Evening after evening they sat opposite to one another over the fire at Starvecrow. Often they played chess,--a pastime to which he seemed tirelessly addicted. He would rarely go out; he shivered and said that it was cold,--it was true that snow lay upon the Downs and that the wind blew incessantly,--and why should a man face the bitter cold of March when no necessity compelled him and when a pleasant fire could console him within doors? Nor did he like her going out without him. So they stayed in, until she felt that she could have sent walls and ceiling flying by one extravagant gesture of her arms. But he,--oh, how content he was! He had lost his melancholy; he had brought out for her benefit from cases and cupboards numerous objects wherewith to beautify their rooms, but her inability to distinguish among the various artists was a source of infinitesimal friction between them; “No, no, my dear; _Clodion_, not _Houdon_,” he would say, and she would accept the correction meekly with a little laugh implying that the matter was not of very great importance after all, and with that little laugh would undo all the merit of her meekness. At first he had enjoyed making these corrections. It flattered him to think that he had brought into an atmosphere of artistic refinement this child of the hills whose knowledge although so thorough as far as it went, was concerned with such rude things as rocks and skulls and antlers, supplemented by a working experience of shepherds’ and woodman’s lore. Certainly he had always been ready to take an interest in Mr. Warrener’s work, and to entertain a respectful admiration for the old gentleman’s scholarship, but that was a different matter: it was a tabulated profession, archæology was a branch of study suitable to gentlemen, especially old gentlemen; Mr. Warrener contributed papers to the journals of several societies; he was a distinguished and accepted authority. That was quite another matter. It had been amusing, even, to find Clare dabbling her fingers in the same research; amusing to hear the terms so glib upon her lips; surprisingly instructive, sometimes, to catch the odd bits of information she let fall while out riding with him on the Downs. But what had been amusing in the child was insufficient, even unbecoming, in the married woman. To dilettantism, _per se_, he had no objection; he was a believer in dilettantism; but in the name of all good taste let it be dilettantism in graceful and becoming subjects! So he tried to interest Clare in _terres cuites_, in crystals and in the bindings of books. She looked at them at first with pleasure, they were exquisite; she had never seen such things before, or suspected their existence; she exclaimed over them, marvelled at their workmanship, fingered them, discovered new loveliness in them as she turned them this way and that. Calladine was enchanted by her appreciation; he thought he might venture further; he tempted her with subtler baits.