Sir Isaac began rather haltingly when they had reached a sandy, ant-infested path that ran slantingly up among the trees. He affected a certain perplexity. He said he did not understand what it was his wife was “after,” what she “thought she was doing” in “making all this trouble”; he wanted to know just what it was she wanted, how she thought they ought to live, just what she considered his rights were as her husband and just what she considered were her duties as his wife—if, that is, she considered she had any duties. To these enquiries Lady Harman made no very definite reply; their estrangement instead of clearing her mind had on the whole perplexed it more, by making her realize the height and depth and extent of her possible separation from him. She replied therefore with an unsatisfactory vagueness; she said she wanted to feel that she possessed herself, that she was no longer a child, that she thought she had a right to read what she chose, see what people she liked, go out a little by herself, have a certain independence—she hesitated, “have a certain definite allowance of my own.” “Have I ever refused you money?” cried Sir Isaac protesting. “It isn’t that,” said Lady Harman; “it’s the feeling——” “The feeling of being able to—defy—anything I say,” said Sir Isaac with a note of bitterness. “As if I didn’t understand!” It was beyond Lady Harman’s powers to express just how that wasn’t the precise statement of the case. Sir Isaac, reverting to his tone of almost elaborate reasonableness, expanded his view that it was impossible for husband and wife to have two different sets of friends;—let alone every other consideration, he explained, it wasn’t convenient for them not to be about together, and as for reading or thinking what she chose he had never made any objection to anything unless it was “decadent rot” that any decent man would object to his womanfolk seeing, rot she couldn’t understand the drift of—fortunately. Blear-eyed humbug.... He checked himself on the verge of an almost archiepiscopal outbreak in order to be patiently reasonable again. He was prepared to concede that it would be very nice if Lady Harman could be a good wife and also an entirely independent person, very nice, but the point was—his tone verged on the ironical—that she couldn’t be two entirely different people at the same time. “But you have your friends,” she said, “you go away alone——” “That’s different,” said Sir Isaac with a momentary note of annoyance. “It’s business. It isn’t that I want to.”