'You are three men of sin, whom Destiny That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit...' Casting spells upon others, she seemed to cast them upon her own life; and it was incredible to her to think that she was the same Clara Day who had come so gaily to London with Charles Mann to help him to conquer his kingdom. The stage of the Imperium was to her, in truth, a magic island where wonders were performed, and she by an inspiration, more powerful than her own will, could with a touch transform all things and persons around her; and when Sir Henry, rehearsing the character of Prospero, said to her.-- 'Then to the elements Be free and fare you well.' the words sounded deep in her heart, and she took them as a real bidding to be free of all that had entangled and cramped her own life. So she dreamed. She had a rude awakening one night when, after a supper in the aquarium alone with Sir Henry, he broke a long moody silence by laying his hand on hers, drawing her out of her chair and clasping her to his heart while he kissed her arms, shoulders, face, hair, and cried,-- 'You wonderful, wonderful child. I love you. I love you. I have loved you since I first saw you. I knew then that the love of my life had come.... You wonderful untouched child----' He tried to make her kiss him, to force her to meet his eyes, but she wrestled with him and thrust him back to relinquish his hold. 'How could you? How could you! How could you?' she asked. 'I have never forgotten that marvellous moonlit night----' 'Please be sensible,' she said. 'Does a man never know when a woman loves him or not?' 'They don't help one much,' replied Sir Henry, with a nervous grin. 'You were so happy.... I thought. Don't be angry with me! I have thought of nothing but you since then....' 'A moonlight night and champagne supper,' said she. 'Are they the same thing to you?' 'Love conquers all,' said Sir Henry, a little sententiously. He was disgusted. She was not playing the right dramatic part; but she never did any of the expected things. The ordinary conventions of women did not exist for her. She had moved as far away from him as possible and was standing over by the portrait of Teresa Chesney. 'You must never talk like that again,' she said, 'or I shall not stay in the theatre.... It is not only the vulgarity of it that I hate, but that you should have misunderstood.... I was happy to be working with you in the play. Everything outside that is unimportant.' 'Not love.... Not love,' protested Sir Henry. 'Even love,' she said. 'I thought you liked me,' he mumbled. 'I was so happy giving you presents. I thought you liked me.... A man in my position doesn't often find people to like him.' 'So I do,' said Clara. 'You are very like Charles. That is why I understand you.'