ink that the purely artist life will be better and
happier for you in the long-run, I would sooner you said so frankly, I
would indeed."

"Eldred!" she gasped, between indignation and fear. But he motioned
her to silence.

"Hear me out first. I told you I had a good deal to say; and as I am
not often taken that way, you must bear with me, for once. You know
now something, at least, of what it means for a man and woman to live
together, as we do. I warned you that I should prove a sorry bargain;
and--take me or leave me--I cannot pretend that any amount of
compromise will make me other than I am. You think me hard, narrow,
conventional, in some respects, no doubt. But in a matter so vital
conventional moralities go for nothing. I want the truth. If you
believe, as I said, that art must stand first with you--always, I shall
respect your frankness and courage in telling me so; and I will give
you--such freedom as the circumstances admit."

"_Mon Dieu_!" she breathed, and for a second or two could say no more.
She had touched the bed-rock of granite in the man at last. Then the
fear that clutched at her found words, in her own despite.

"Have I killed--your love, so soon? Surely you could not make such a
suggestion--in cold blood, unless--I had."

"You are simply shifting the argument," he answered without unbending.
"You know whether--I love you. In fact, if it comes to that, it is
you, my dear, who have not yet grasped the full meaning of the word, or
you would not need to be told that the free choice I am offering you of
compromise with me, or independence--without me, is the utmost proof
one can give that you and your happiness stand absolutely first----"

At that she made an impulsive movement towards him, and her fingers
closed upon his arm. But with inexorable gentleness he unclasped her
hand, and put it from him.

"No, no," he said, and there was more pain than hardness in his tone.
"Better keep clear of that form of argument, for the present. Passion
settles nothing. Contact is not fusion. We have proved it,--you and
I. It is not a question of what we feel. That may be taken for
granted by now. It is a question of what we are, individually,
intrinsically; of how much each of us is ready to forego for the sake
of the one essential form of union that counts between a man and woman
who are not mere materialists; and we are neither of us that. I don't
want my answer to-night, nor even to-morr