"I don't know even what you mean," she answered, rather as though he had just made a dirty joke. "Well, _I_ do," he thundered, "and I mean it, too. This has got to stop, I tell you. I asked you long ago, when--when things were different, to see less of this fellow. I don't trust him. I ran across him just now, and he cringed. Grrrr!" (and here he made a gesture as of one who washes hands). "It's bad enough that you and he should be about together, day and night, till everybody talks; but when it comes to a cad like that calling you Zoë and----" "So you've been listening," she said. It seemed so easy to keep calm, now that Hubert was excited. He laughed scornfully. "That's likely, isn't it? I heard him bellowing it out in the hall.... No, this has got to stop. It's bad enough to have the Boyds and all our friends here sniggering, but when the servants----" She got up abruptly, and he sat down; the room was too small for two rovers. "Perhaps," she began icily, "you'll let me say a word. You haven't let me for a week." He spread his arms, hopeless, and sat down. "I'm glad you're not jealous," she went on slowly, as to a child. "That'd be stupid. You know quite well that Mr. Alison is nothing but a friend. I couldn't respect him as----" but no, she wouldn't seem to beg for mercy; she broke off and spoke again in a much fiercer tone. "Perhaps though, as you've told me what I mustn't do, you'll tell me what I can. _You_ won't come out with me, you shun me like a criminal, you only talk to me in front of Lily. Do you think I can live like that? Do you really think I'm going out alone, alone with the dog, and everybody saying: 'There's poor Mrs. Brett; she's in disgrace; he's punishing her'? No, I'd rather let them see me with Mr. Alison and let them think it's I who am avoiding you!" He looked at her as at some strange being in his house. "Helena," he said, "this can't be you who's speaking." "Isn't it?" she laughed. Then calming herself, "Perhaps then," she added, borrowing some of his irony, "if I'm not to go out with Mr. Alison, you'll tell me what I _am_ to do." "What do most wives do," he asked, "whose husbands are away? They don't rush about everywhere with artist-wasters; they do some work or something." It was a vague ending, but it lent Helena her chance. "Exactly what I wanted you to say," she cried. "I don't want to do anything again without your leave; but now I _will_ do some work. I'll live my own life, if you don't want me to share yours." "What do you mean, Helena?" he asked. This was a new mood. "I mean," she said surprised at her own calmness, "that Blatchleys have offered me two hundred pounds advance for my new novel. I said I must ask you first, but now I shall accept it." "I utterly forbid it," he cried wildly and leapt to his feet. They were both standing now.