He tried to say more, to remove the affair from the hard, business footing on which it had been conducted, to lead his prospective mother-in-law to give him some sign that she regarded him as a potential member of her family, but she suppressed him by saying: "Frankly, Mr. Fourmy, I don't think it would be wise of you to marry with my daughter unless you have at least three hundred a year." He agreed and withdrew, chilled at the heart. It seemed to end his wooing and to give him already a slight distaste for Linda. Could she really have discussed the matter so coolly with her solid mother? It was a shock to him that women from whom came such great ecstasy were not themselves all compact of that fiery essence. And seven hundred a year! That seemed more present to the mind of the mother than the girl herself. Seven hundred a year was to be sent to Germany until he had grown into three hundred a year. However, Linda immensely enjoyed the process of parting. She began it on the Sunday, and carried it through till the Friday, when she was to sail from Hull, and she left her betrothed, sad, aching, but obstinately hopeful. On the Tuesday she said: "You have changed my whole life. I was drifting. I was trying to take in too many things. You have made me see." "What?" asked René very seriously. He was anxious to know. "Just _see,"_ she replied. He was left uncomfortably in his own limited world, feeling that she had shot off into regions to which he could not follow her. He ought to have been accustomed to that by now, but he could not be. She was always hinting at the wonderful things she got out of him, but as he was never conscious of them, he could not understand her. He used to tell himself that it was her queer roundabout way of delighting in her love for him. On the Thursday she said: "You know, René, at such a distance we shall be able to get our ideas of each other clear. That is so necessary. We must make an effort to understand each other." "Isn't it enough if we love each other?" "Oh no. That only means making allowances. It isn't enough to do that. I get frightened sometimes when I think of all the people who are married, how little they understand each other." "Then they're married without loving each other." "I think I see what you mean," and she caught his hand and pressed it to her bosom. She had become much more demonstrative in these days of parting. He warmed to her excitement and rushed ahead: "People who love each other are married. I've been thinking about it. If people love each other they have the wonderful mutual knowledge which is marriage. And we have that, haven't we?" "Oh, wonderfully!"