l him Monsieur Delaroche. She says there is no knowing people
in this country. And do you think you will never be able to paint as
well as M. Delaroche?

Clive. No--never.

Ethel. And--and--you will never give up painting?

Clive. No--never. That would be like leaving your friend who was poor;
or deserting your mistress because you were disappointed about her
money. They do those things in the great world, Ethel.

Ethel (with a sigh). Yes.

Clive. If it is so false, and base, and hollow, this great world--if its
aims are so mean, its successes so paltry, the sacrifices it asks of you
so degrading, the pleasures it gives you so wearisome, shameful even,
why does Ethel Newcome cling to it? Will you be fairer, dear, with any
other name than your own? Will you be happier, after a month, at bearing
a great title, with a man whom you can't esteem, tied for ever to you,
to be the father of Ethel's children, and the lord and master of her
life and actions? The proudest woman in the world consents to bend
herself to this ignominy, and own that a coronet is a bribe sufficient
for her honour! What is the end of a Christian life, Ethel; a girl's
pure nurture?--it can't be this! Last week, as we walked in the garden
here, and heard the nuns singing in their chapel, you said how hard it
was that poor women should be imprisoned so, and were thankful that in
England we had abolished that slavery. Then you cast your eyes to the
ground, and mused as you paced the walk; and thought, I know, that
perhaps their lot was better than some others.

Ethel. Yes, I did. I was thinking that almost all women are made slaves
one way or other, and that these poor nuns perhaps were better off than
we are.

Clive. I never will quarrel with nun or matron for following her
vocation. But for our women, who are free, why should they rebel against
Nature, shut their hearts up, sell their lives for rank and money, and
forgo the most precious right of their liberty? Look, Ethel, dear. I
love you so, that if I thought another had your heart, an honest man,
a loyal gentleman, like--like him of last year even, I think I could go
back with a God bless you, and take to my pictures again, and work on in
my own humble way. You seem like a queen to me, somehow; and I am but a
poor, humble fellow, who might be happy, I think, if you were. In those
balls, where I have seen you surrounded by those brilliant young men,
noble and wealthy, admirers like me, I have o