“I wouldn’t worry about Phyllis if I were you,” Rose-Ann said to Felix coolly. “She’s perfectly able to take care of herself. Her plan is all right. She’s very young, and it won’t do her any harm to wait a year or two and learn a trade before she comes here to live. I think she’s a very sensible young woman, myself.” It was time for Clive to go, for he was living out at Woods Point again. They discussed the studio for a few minutes, and then Felix put on his hat and accompanied Clive to the platform of the Illinois Central station a block away. “Spring!” said Clive, sniffing the mild March breeze. “Tomorrow will be warm.” “Clive,” said Felix, “what’s the matter with you, anyway? You’re really in love with Phyllis!” “Who knows?” said Clive. “Sometimes I think I am, myself!” “Well, then?” “But there’s another question you haven’t considered. Is she in love with me?” “Ask her and find out!” “Oh, I’ve no doubt she thinks she is, at this moment. Just because I don’t seem to care whether she is or not! She’s a queer girl, Felix. You don’t understand her at all....” “You exasperate me,” said Felix. “Marry her, and put an end to all this foolishness.” “But why should you assume that my intentions—if I have any—are honourable, young man! What makes you think I want to get married to anybody? I think I’ll wait and see how your marriage turns out first!” Felix walked home slowly, but it seemed only an instant before he opened the door of the studio. “Who is it?” called Rose-Ann from behind the screen. “It’s me,” he said, and locked the door, and stood there for a moment.... He felt a kind of vague bewilderment. He had been so immersed in the story of these other unhappy lives, so poignantly concerned with their tangled doubts and fears, that it was strange to return to this scene of his own untroubled happiness. The sense of those other tormented lives burned at this moment more vividly in his imagination than his own life and Rose-Ann’s.... “Coming to bed?” Rose-Ann called from behind the screen. “No,” he said vaguely, “I think I’ll write for a while.” “All right, then I won’t bother you. Good-night!” “Good-night, Rose-Ann.” He went over to his desk, and turned on the electric light, and dipped his pen in the ink, and then sat dreaming before a white sheet of paper. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XXVI. What Rose-Ann Wanted 1 “WHY don’t you want me to get a job, Felix?” It was mid-April, and the Park across the way had, all at once, turned that lovely young green of beginning grass and burgeoning trees. It was dusk, and Rose-Ann and Felix were sitting in their cushioned window-seat—a new addition to the household furnishing—arguing a point which had been coming up from time to time since their marriage. “You have your work,” she went on.