“Yes, that is worthy of you,” cried Clare. “That is your sense of humor! You have starved my soul and starved my heart and you offer me--sandwiches. I am hungry for life and you offer me--the latest novel.” Herbert paced up and down the room. He was losing control of his temper. “That is the reward for all my devotion!” he said. “Don’t I drudge in the city every day to keep you in comfort?” “I don’t want comfort!” said Clare. “Don’t I toil so that you may have pretty frocks?” “I don’t want pretty frocks.” “Don’t I scrape and scheme to buy you little luxuries?” “I don’t want little luxuries,” said Clare. “Is there anything within my means that you haven’t got?” Clare looked at him in a peculiar way, and answered quietly-- “I haven’t a child,” she said. “Oh, Lord,” said Herbert uneasily. “Whose fault is that? Besides, modern life in small flats is not cut out for children.” “And modern life in small flats,” said Clare, “is not cut out for wives.” “It isn’t my fault,” said Herbert. “I am not the architect--either of fate or flats.” “No, it isn’t your fault, Herbert. You can’t help your character. It isn’t your fault that when you come home from the city you fall asleep after dinner. It isn’t your fault that when you go to the club I sit at home with my hands in my lap, thinking and brooding. It isn’t your fault that your mother and I get on each other’s nerves. It isn’t your fault that you and I have grown out of each other, that we bore each other and have nothing to say to each other--except when we quarrel.” “Well, then,” said Herbert, “whose fault is it?” “I don’t know,” said Clare. “I suppose it’s a fault of the system, which is spoiling thousands of marriages just like ours. It’s the fault which is found out--in the Eighth Year.” “Oh, curse the Eighth Year,” said Herbert violently. “What is that bee you have got in your bonnet?” “It’s a bee which keeps buzzing in my brain. It’s a little bee which whispers queer words to me--tempting words. It says you must break away from the system or the system will break you. You must find a way of escape or die. You must do it quickly, now, to-night, or it will be too late. Herbert, a hungry woman will do desperate things to satisfy her appetite, and I am hungry for some stronger emotion than I can find within these four walls. I am hungry for love, hungry for work, hungry for life. If you can’t give it to me, I must find it elsewhere.” “Clare,” said Herbert, with deliberate self-restraint, “I must again remind you that time is getting on and you are not yet dressed. In a little while our guests will be here. I hope you don’t mean to hold me up to the contempt of my friends. I at least have some sense of duty.... I am going to fetch the whisky.” As he strode toward the door he started back at the noise of breaking china. “What’s that?” asked Clare. “God knows,” said Herbert. “I expect mother has broken a window.”