She made a futile little gesture and turned away, wrapping her cloak around her desolately. “I’d better go.” “No; stay, and talk to me.” “Amuse you?” “Amuse me.” “I don’t want to amuse you.” She was very pathetic now. “I want to do other things for you, with you. Couldn’t I stimulate you, maybe?” He laughed. “You do, angel; you do, immensely.” Then all in a minute she lost control. The primitive instincts in her, so untrained by social or intellectual discipline, so thinly overlaid with “manners,” came through. She was by his side, sobbing, her arms thrown around him like a child’s. “I want you to love me, to respect me, admire me--like--like you do Cecily!” Matthew’s face grew really stern. He held her, but without a touch of emotion. Then, when her anger seemed to have spent itself, he drew her to the big chair, down on his knees, patting her hand. After a little she looked up at him as if she sought for a trace of the thing she wanted. His glance met hers gravely. “When we agreed to be married, do you remember what we talked about and decided? Haven’t I given you everything I promised?” “Everything.” That softened him. “And you’ve given me more than I ever hoped for--youth and happiness and comfort and the sight of you. Aren’t we happy enough, Fliss, without mixing ourselves up in a hunt after emotions that probably can’t naturally develop in us?” “Can’t they--can’t I be more; couldn’t I learn?” He put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t spoil your own quality, Fliss. And remember that I’m getting older and the capacity for certain kinds of emotion is passing me by.” “But you feel it for Cecily.” He set her on her feet like a naughty child and stood facing her. “Fliss, there is nothing in any feeling which I may or may not have for Cecily which concerns you remotely.” She had probed too deep with her awkward weapons. At the rebuff she stood looking at him wide-eyed, hurt, pathetic. “I’ve broken our bargain, haven’t I?” she said at length, stumblingly. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just forget all this. You’ve made me so happy in so many ways, Fliss. A home and you----” “But I can’t reach down in you; I never get down.” “It’s all right, Fliss dear. You get down far enough. Don’t let’s wreck things by asking too much of the fates.” She played her last card. “If, perhaps we had a baby?” He smiled at her with great tenderness. “I’d love to have a baby, Fliss dear, but you mustn’t give up or try to give up everything for me.” She must have seen, as she looked, that no sentimentality would ever break him down, ever penetrate those depths which she had come to revere and to covet so much. “Let’s go downstairs now, and you can get me some supper, if there’s anything in the house,” he suggested, trying to get back to solid ground again. She shook her head. “Let me go alone for a little while. Come down later.”