der such control that he
was able presently to say instead of this--and it was a relief to him to
give audible voice to the reflexion--"It's a great mistake, either way,
for a man to be in love with an actress. Either it means nothing
serious, and what's the use of that? or it means everything, and that's
still more delusive."

"Delusive?"

"Idle, unprofitable."

"Surely a pure affection is its own beautiful reward," Mrs. Rooth
pleaded with soft reasonableness.

"In such a case how can it be pure?"

"I thought you were talking of an English gentleman," she replied.

"Call the poor fellow whatever you like: a man with his life to lead,
his way to make, his work, his duties, his career to attend to. If it
means nothing, as I say, the thing it means least of all is marriage."

"Oh my own Miriam!" Mrs. Rooth wailed.

"Fancy, on the other hand, the complication when such a man marries a
woman who's on the stage."

Mrs. Rooth looked as if she were trying to follow. "Miriam isn't on the
stage yet."

"Go to London and she soon will be."

"Yes, and then you'll have your excuse."

"My excuse?"

"For deserting us altogether."

He broke into laughter at this, the logic was so droll. Then he went on:
"Show me some good acting and I won't desert you."

"Good acting? Ah what's the best acting compared with the position of a
true English lady? If you'll take her as she is you may have her," Mrs.
Rooth suddenly added.

"As she is, with all her ambitions unassuaged?"

"To marry _you_--might not that be an ambition?"

"A very paltry one. Don't answer for her, don't attempt that," said
Peter. "You can do much better."

"Do you think _you_ can?" smiled Mrs. Rooth.

"I don't want to; I only want to let it alone. She's an artist; you must
give her her head," the young man pursued. "You must always give an
artist his head."

"But I've known great ladies who were artists. In English society
there's always a field."

"Don't talk to me of English society! Thank goodness, in the first
place, I don't live in it. Do you want her to give up her genius?" he
demanded.

"I thought you didn't care for it."

"She'd say, 'No I thank you, dear mamma.'"

"My wonderful child!" Mrs. Rooth almost comprehendingly murmured.

"Have you ever proposed it to her?"

"Proposed it?"

"That she should give up trying."

Mrs. Rooth hesitated, looking down. "Not for the reason you mean. We
don't talk about love," she simpered.

"Th