This seemed too much to Claude. He felt ashamed to spend such a large sum on what must seem an unnecessary caprice to the average person, even probably to people who were above the average. If he were known as a composer, if he were popular or famous, the matter, he felt, would be quite different. Everyone understands the artistic needs of the famous man, or pretends to understand them. But Claude and his work were entirely unknown to fame. And now, as he hesitated about the payment of this hundred pounds, he regretted this, as he had never before regretted it. But Charmian was strong in her insistence upon his having this particular studio. She saw he had taken a fancy to it. "I know you feel there's the right atmosphere here," she said. "I can see you do. It would be fatal not to take this studio if you have that feeling. Never mind the expense. We shall get it all back in the future." "Back in the future!" he said, as if startled. "How?" She saw she had been imprudent, had made a sort of slip. "Oh, I don't know. Some day when your father--But don't let's talk of that. A hundred a year is not very much. It will only mean not quite so many new hats and dresses for me." Claude flushed, suddenly and violently. "Charmian! You can't suppose--" "Surely a wife has the right to do something to help her husband?" "But I don't need--I mean, I could never consent--" She made a face at him, drawing down her brows, and turning her eyes to the left where the caretaker stood, with a bunch of keys in his large, gouty, red hands. Claude said no more. As they went out Charmian smiled at the caretaker. "We are going to take it. My husband likes it." "Yes, ma'am. It's a mighty fine studio. The Baron was sorry to leave it, but he had to go back to Vi-henner." "I see." "Now the next thing is to furnish it," said Charmian, as they walked away. "I shall only want my piano, a chair, and a table," said Claude. It was only by making a very great effort that he was able to speak naturally, with any simplicity. "Besides," he added quickly, "it's really too expensive. A hundred a year is absurd." "If it were two hundred a year it wouldn't be a penny too much if you really like it, if you will feel happy and at home in it. I'm going to furnish it for you, quite simply, of course. Just rugs and a divan or two, and a screen to shut out the door, two or three pretty comfortable chairs, some draperies--only thin ones, nothing heavy to spoil the acoustics--a few cushions, a table or two. Oh, and you must have a spirit-lamp, a little _batterie de cuisine_, and perhaps a tea-basket." "But, my dear Charmian--" "Hush, old boy! You have genius, but you don't understand these things. These are the woman's things. I shall love getting together everything. Surely you don't want to spoil my little fun. I've made a failure of your workroom in Kensington. Do let me try to make a success of the studio." What could Claude do but thank her, but let her have her way?