May did not speak for some moments, after they both moved away from the portraits. Boreham watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were going right and coming to a crisis. "You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But people haven't the courage to say so!" "You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now appreciated, as he had never done before, how much he scored by possessing, along with the subtle intuitions of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English mother. "I am preparing my mind," said May, as they approached the door of the hall, "to face a future chequered by fits of hysteria." "But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not conceal his agitation; "when I spoke of the endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personally wanted any interference (at present) with our system of monogamy. The British public thinks it believes in monogamy and I, personally, think that monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances. It would be possible for me under certain circumstances." The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought tears to Boreham's eyes. May quickened her steps, and he opened the door for her to go into the lobby. As he went through himself he could see that the two strangers had turned and were watching them. He damned them under his breath and pulled the door to. "There are women," he went on, as he followed her down the stairs, "who have breadth of character and brains that command the fidelity of men. I need not tell _you_ this." May was descending slowly and looked as if she thought she was alone. "'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite variety,'" he whispered behind her, and he found the words strangely difficult to pronounce because of his emotion. He moved alertly into step with her and gazed at her profile. "When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately young woman," remarked May, "a woman who is, say, twenty-eight--I am twenty-eight--it has no point I am afraid!" "No point?" exclaimed Boreham. "No point," repeated May. "How do you know that thirty years from now, when I am on the verge of sixty, that I shan't be withered--unless, indeed, I get too stout?" she added pensively. "You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently; "young, like Ninon de l'Enclos." May had now reached the ground, and she walked out on to the terrace into open daylight. Boreham was at her side immediately, and she turned and looked at him. His pale blue eyes blinked at her, for he was aware that hers were hostile! Why? "You would seem young to me," he said, trying to feel brave. "Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis on the word "ought"--"men and women ought to wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. I think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an old woman trying to look young instead of learning the lesson of life, the lesson we are here to learn!" Boreham had had barely time to recover from the blow when she added in the sweetest tone--