He must taste of liberty again before sinking into the humdrum of married life. The thought of an ocean voyage, of the new life amid tropic splendours, excited his imagination all the more because it blended with the thought of recovered freedom. Marriage had come upon him with unfair abruptness; for such a change as that, even the ordinary bachelor demands a season preparative; much more, then, the young man who revelled in a philosophic sense of detachment, who wrote his motto ‘Vixi hodie!’ For marriage he was simply unfit; forced together, he and his wife would soon be mutually detestable. A temporary parting might mature in the hearts of both that affection of which the seed was undeniably planted. With passion they had done; the enduring tenderness of a reasonable love must now unite them, were they to be united at all. And to give such love a chance of growing in him, Tarrant felt that he must lose sight of Nancy until her child was born. Yes, it had begun already, the trial he dreaded. A letter from Nancy, written and posted only an hour or two after her return home--a long, distracted letter. Would he forgive her for seeming to be an obstacle in the way of what he had proposed? Would he promise her to be faithful? Would he-- He had hardly patience to read it through. The next evening, on returning home about ten o’clock, he was startled by the sight of Nancy’s figure at the foot of his staircase. ‘What has happened?’ ‘Nothing--don’t be frightened. But I wanted to see you tonight.’ She gripped his hand. ‘How long have you waited? What! Hours? But this is downright madness--such a night as this! Couldn’t you put a note for me in the letter-box?’ ‘Don’t--don’t speak so! I wanted to see you.’ She hurried her words, as if afraid he would refuse to listen. ‘I have told Mary--I wanted you to know--’ ‘Come in. But there’s no fire, and you’re chilled through. Do you want to be ill? What outrageous silliness!’ Her vitality was indeed at a low ebb, and reproaches made her weep. Tarrant half carried her up to his room, made a light, and fell to his knees at fire-building. ‘Let me do it,’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘Let me wait upon you--’ ‘If you don’t sit still and keep quiet, you’ll make me angry in earnest.’ ‘Then you’re not _really_ angry with me? I couldn’t help it.’ ‘No, I’m afraid you couldn’t,’ Tarrant muttered cheerlessly. ‘I wanted to tell you that Mary will be our friend. She was speechless with astonishment; at first I didn’t know what she would say; she looked at me as she had never looked before--as if she were the mistress, and I the servant. But see what I have come to; all I felt was a dread lest she should think it her duty to cast me off. I haven’t a bit of pride left. I could have fallen on my knees before her; I almost did. But she was very good and kind and gentle at last. She’ll do everything she can for me.’ The fire in a blaze, Tarrant stood up and regarded it gloomily.