money in the world,' said Charles, who was so
pleased with himself that Clara had not the heart to pursue the
argument any further. 'London,' he continued, 'is a great talking
shop. At present they haven't anything much to discuss so they shall
talk about me.'

For a moment Clara felt that he had become as external to her as the
people in the streets of the kingdom he designed to conquer, but she
recollected that whenever he was at work he always was abstracted from
her and entirely absorbed in what he was doing, only, however, to
return like a giant refreshed to enter into her world again and make it
more delightful than before. He was absorbed now, and she thought with
a queer pang of alarm of the women with their dull, suspicious eyes,
and, without realising the connection between what she thought and what
she said, she broke into his absorption with,--

'Carlo, dear, I shall have to marry you.'

He spun round as though he had been stung and asked,--

'Good God, why?'

And again her answer was strange and came from some remote recess of
her being,--

'London is different.'

Now Charles Mann was one of those sensitive people who yield at once to
the will of another when it is precise and purposeful; and when in this
girl, whom he had collected as he collected drunkards, cats, dogs, and
other helpless creatures, such a will moved, though it cut like hot
iron through his soul, he obeyed it without argument. He, whose faith
in himself was scattered and dissipated, had in her a faith as whole as
that of a child who accepts without a murmur a whipping from his father.

'My dear girl----' he murmured.

'You know you will have to,' she said firmly.

He looked uncomfortable. His large face was suddenly ashen and yellow,
and a certain weakness crept into his ordinarily firm lips and
nostrils. The girl's eyes were blazing at him, searching him, making
him feel transparent, and so uncomfortable that he could do nothing but
obey to relieve his own acute distress.

'Yes, of course.'

'Don't you want to?'

'Yes, of course.'

'It doesn't make any difference to us inside ourselves.'

'No. Of course not.'

What he wanted to say was, 'You're pinning me down. I'm not used to
being pinned down. No one has ever pinned me down before.'

But he could not say it. He could only agree that it would be a good
thing if they married, because London was different.

'At once?' he asked.

'At once,' said she.