Sir Hugh came in, and was followed by tea. They sat down by the tiny table, and discussed French literature. Flaubert and Daudet go as well with tea as Fielding and Smollett go with supper. But, when the cups were put down, Maine drove the French authors in a pack out of the conversation. "I did not come here to say what I can say to every woman I meet who understands French," he remarked. And then Mrs Glinn was fully face to face with her particular guardian devil. "No?" she said. She did not try to postpone the moment she dreaded. For she had a strong man to deal with, and, being a strong woman at heart, she generally held out her hand to the inevitable. "You have been thinking?" Maine went on. "Yes. What a sad occupation that is sometimes--like knitting, or listening to church-bells at night!" "Eve, let us be serious." "God knows I am," she answered. "But modern gravity is dressed in flippancy. No feeling must go quite naked." "Don't talk like that," he said. "As there is a nudity in art that may be beautiful, so there is a nudity in expression, in words, that may be beautiful. Eve, I have come to hear you tell me something. You know that." He glanced into her face with an anxiety that she did not fully understand. Then he said: "Tell it me." "There is--is so much to tell," she said. "Yes, yes." "He does not understand," she thought. He thought, "She does not understand." "And I am not good at telling stories." "Then tell me the truth." She tried to smile, but she was trembling. "Of course. Why should I not?" She hesitated, and then added, with a forced attempt at petulance, "But there is nothing so awkward as giving people more than they expect. Is there?" He understood her question, despite its apparent inconsequence, and his heart quickened its beating: "Give me everything." "I suppose I should be doing that if I gave you myself," she said nervously. "You know best," he answered; and for a moment she was puzzled by not catching the affirmative for which she had angled. "Do you want me very, very much?" she asked. "So much that, as I told you yesterday, I could not ask for you twice. Don't you understand?" "Yes. I could not marry a man who had bothered me to be his wife. One might as well be scolded into virtue. You want me, then, Hugh, and I want you. But--" Again she stopped, with sentences fluttering, as it seemed, on the very edges of her lips. Her heart was at such fearful odds with her conscience, that she felt as if he must hear the clashing of the swords. And he did hear it. He would fain have cheered on both the combatants. Which did he wish should be the conqueror? He hardly knew. "Yes?" he said.