a lily of the valley, and so you put him
in an appropriate pot, and tended him according. You made up your mind
he was a lily of the valley and it was no good his being a cow-parsnip.
You wouldn't have it."

"I certainly never imagined him a lily of the valley."

"You imagined him something he wasn't. That's just what a woman is. She
thinks she knows what's good for a man, and she's going to see he gets
it; and no matter if he's starving, he may sit and whistle for what he
needs, while she's got him, and is giving him what's good for him."

"And what are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm thinking what tune I shall whistle," he laughed.

And instead of boxing his ears, she considered him in earnest.

"You think I want to give you what's good for you?" she asked.

"I hope so; but love should give a sense of freedom, not of prison.
Miriam made me feel tied up like a donkey to a stake. I must feed on her
patch, and nowhere else. It's sickening!"

"And would YOU let a WOMAN do as she likes?"

"Yes; I'll see that she likes to love me. If she doesn't--well, I don't
hold her."

"If you were as wonderful as you say--," replied Clara.

"I should be the marvel I am," he laughed.

There was a silence in which they hated each other, though they laughed.

"Love's a dog in a manger," he said.

"And which of us is the dog?" she asked.

"Oh well, you, of course."

So there went on a battle between them. She knew she never fully had
him. Some part, big and vital in him, she had no hold over; nor did she
ever try to get it, or even to realise what it was. And he knew in some
way that she held herself still as Mrs. Dawes. She did not love Dawes,
never had loved him; but she believed he loved her, at least depended on
her. She felt a certain surety about him that she never felt with Paul
Morel. Her passion for the young man had filled her soul, given her
a certain satisfaction, eased her of her self-mistrust, her doubt.
Whatever else she was, she was inwardly assured. It was almost as if
she had gained HERSELF, and stood now distinct and complete. She had
received her confirmation; but she never believed that her life belonged
to Paul Morel, nor his to her. They would separate in the end, and the
rest of her life would be an ache after him. But at any rate, she knew
now, she was sure of herself. And the same could almost be said of him.
Together they had received the baptism of life, each through the other;
but now their missi