what we call civilization advances. It is a
hateful fact that, from the domestic point of view, there exists no
difference between some of the noblest things in art and poetry, and
the obscenities which are prosecuted; the one is as impossible of frank
discussion as the other."

"The domestic point of view is contemptible. It means the bourgeois
point of view, the Philistine point of view."

"Then I myself, if I had children, should be both bourgeois and
Philistine. And so, I have a strong suspicion, would you too."

"Very well," replied Mallard, with some annoyance, "then it is one more
reason why an artist should have nothing to do with domesticities. But
look here, you are wrong as regards me. If ever I marry, _amico mio_,
my wife shall learn to make more than a theoretical distinction between
what is art and what is grossness. If ever I have children, they shall
from the first he taught a natural morality, and not the conventional.
If I can afford good casts of noble statues, they shall stand freely
about my house. When I read aloud, by the fire side, there shall be no
skipping or muttering or frank omissions; no, by Apollo! If a daughter
of mine cannot describe to me the points of difference between the
Venus of the Capitol and that of the Medici, she shall be bidden to use
her eyes and her brains better. I'll have no contemptible prudery in my
house!"

"Bravissimo!" cried Spenee, laughing. "I see that my cousin Miriam is
not the only person who has progressed during these years. Do you
remember a certain conversation of ours at Posillipo about the
education of a certain young lady?"

"Yes, I do. But that was a different matter. The question was not of
Greek statues and classical books, but of modern pruriencies and
shallowness and irresponsibility."

"You exaggerated then, and you do so now," said Spence; "at present
with less excuse."

Mallard kept silence for a space; then said:

"Let us speak of what we have been avoiding. How has that marriage
turned out?"

"I have told you all I know. There's no reason to suppose that things
are anything but well."

"I don't like her coming abroad alone; I have no faith in that plea of
work. I suspect things are _not_ well."

"A cynic--which I am not--would suggest that a wish had something to do
with the thought."

"He would be cynically wrong," replied Mallard, with calmness.

"Why shouldn't she come abroad alone? There's nothing alarming in the
fact that