a man
offers marriage, of course he usually says: My life is this and this;
will you enter into it, and share it with me? I don't wish to say
anything of the kind. My life may take all sorts of forms; when I ask
you to share it, I ask you to share liberty, not restraint.'

'A gipsy life?' she asked, half playfully.

'Is your inclination to that?'

Alma shook her head.

'No, I am tired of homelessness.--And,' she added as if on an impulse,
'I am tired of London.'

'Then we agree. I, too, am tired of both.'

Her manner altered; she straightened herself, and spoke with more
self-possession.

'What about my art--my career?'

'It is for me to ask that question,' replied Harvey, gazing steadfastly
at her.

'You don't mean that it would all necessarily come to an end.'

'Why? I mean what I say when I speak of sharing liberty. Heaven forbid
that I should put an end to any aim or hope of yours--to anything that
is part of yourself. I want you to be yourself. Many people nowadays
revolt against marriage because it generally means bondage, and they
have much to say for themselves. If I had been condemned to a wearisome
occupation and a very small income, I'm sure I should never have asked
anyone to marry me; I don't think it fair. It may seem to you that I
haven't much right to call myself an independent man as it is----'

Alma broke in, impatiently.

'Don't speak of money? You have enough--more than enough.'

'So it seems to me. You are afraid this might prevent you from becoming
a professional musician?'

'I know it would,' she answered with quiet decision.

'I should never dream of putting obstacles in your way. Do understand
and believe me. I don't want to shape you to any model of my own; I
want you to be your true self, and live the life you are meant for.'

'All the same, you would rather I did not become a professional
musician. Now, be honest with me! Be honest before everything. You
needn't answer, I know it well enough; and if I marry you, I give up my
music.'

Rolfe scrutinised her face, observed the tremulous mouth, the nervous
eyelid.

'Then,' he said, 'it will be better for you not to marry me.'

And silence fell upon the room, a silence in which Harvey could hear a
deep-drawn breath and the rustle of silk. He was surprised by a voice
in quite a new tone, softly melodious.

'You give me up very easily.'

'Not more easily than you give up your music.'

'There's a difference. Do you reme