“Because I tell you the truth. I don’t keep up the foolish old pretences by which men and women hide themselves from each other. You cannot hide from me, Clare.” “You seem to strip my soul bare,” said Clare and when the man laughed at her she said: “Yes, I am frightened of you.” “It is because you are like all suburban women,” said Gerald, “brought up in this environment of hypocritical virtue and false sentiment. You are frightened at the verities of life.” Clare Heywood gave a deep, quivering sigh. “Life is a tragic thing, Gerald,” she said. “Life is a jolly thing if one makes the best of it, if one fulfils one’s own nature.” “One’s own nature is generally bad.” “Never mind,” said Gerald cheerfully. “It is one’s own. Bad or good, it must find expression instead of being smothered or strangled. Life is tragic only to those who are afraid of it. Don’t be afraid, Clare. Do the things you want to do.” “There is nothing I want to do,” said Clare wearily. “Nothing except to find peace.” “Exactly. Peace. How can you find peace, my poor Clare, in this stuffy life of yours--in this daily denial of your own nature? There are heaps of things you want.” Clare laughed again, in a mirthless way. “How do you know?” she asked. “Of course I know. Shall I tell you?” “I think I would rather you didn’t,” said Clare. “I will tell you,” said the man. “Liberty is one of them.” “Liberty is a vague word.” “Liberty for your soul,” said Gerald. “Herbert objects to my having a soul.” “Liberty for that beating heart of yours, Clare.” The woman put both hands to her heart. “Yes, it beats, and beats.” “You want to escape, Clare.” “Escape?” She seemed frightened at that word. She whispered it. “Escape from the deadening influence of domestic dulness.” “I can’t deny the dulness,” said Clare. “You want adventure. Your heart is seeking adventure. You know it. You know that I am telling you the truth.” As the man spoke he came closer to her, and with his hands in his pockets stood in front of her, staring into her eyes. “You make me afraid,” said Clare. All the color had faded out of her face and she was dead white. “You need not be afraid, Clare. The love of a man for a woman is not a terrifying thing. It is a good thing. Good as life.” He took her by the wrists and held them tight. “Gerald!” said Clare. “For God’s sake.... I have a husband.” “He bores you,” said the man. “He is your husband but not your mate. No woman finds peace until she finds her mate. It is the same with a man.” “I will not listen to you. You make me feel a bad woman!” She wrenched her hands free and moved toward the bell. Gerald Bradshaw laughed quietly. He seemed amused at this woman’s fear. He seemed masterful, sure of his power over her. “You know that you must be my mate. If not to-day, to-morrow. If not to-morrow, the next day. I will wait for you, Clare.” Clare had shrunk back to the wall now, and touched the electric bell.