“Tell me all about it. Can't you see I am dying to know? That is why I brought you out here. Who is she? Where did you meet her? Were you long engaged? And I know you too are dying to talk to someone about her. You may as well gratify the craving while you still have it.” “I believe you are madly jealous, Clara. Pardon my frankness. But you and I always went in for being frank with one another.” “Call it amiable brutality--it would be better.” “As you like. I never went in for splitting hairs. I suppose it's brutal to say you are jealous.” “It is simply idiotic. Therefore I bear you no ill will for your saying so. I honestly admire your wife, and think you have got very much more than you deserve, and I am femininely curious. Now perhaps you will tell me.” “Well, I met her at a cousin's house. She is, or rather was, an artist.” “I appreciate the distinction. Proceed.” Thornton threw himself back with a great laugh against the balustrade, his elbows resting upon it, his hands in his pockets. “I think you are just a little bit jealous,” he said. “Well--to finish my story. She is of an old Buckinghamshire family, and we were engaged about a month. And then we were married. But tell me, by way of changing the conversation----” “Which may be painful.” “Precisely. How long are you going to stay in Paris?” “I don't know. As long as Paris pleases me. Am I going to see you any more, or are you too much engrossed? I don't want to take you away from your duties.” “I don't think you are likely to, Clara.” “Possibly not. Your wife will keep a tight rein upon you. She looks that sort. But I don't know why we should be talking in this strain the first time we have had a word together for--how many years? Four? Five? We have quickly dropped into old ways. But then you were a fire-eater, a chartered libertine, independent, a bird of freedom. Whereas now--my poor friend!” “By George!” cried Thornton, starting forward, with some excitement in his eyes that glowed in the dimness, “don't fall into any delusion. If you think I am going the way of another poor friend of ours who can't call his soul his own, you are devilishly mistaken. I married because it happened to strike me that I wanted to do so. But I run the concern, and my wife's a sensible woman and recognises the fact. And whatever I want to do I am going to do. I have generally done it, and don't see why I should break through my habit now.” “And your wife?” “How--my wife?” “Is she going to enjoy a beautiful independence likewise?” “No. It isn't good for women.” “Thank you. You always were a delicate judge in things feminine. Did you ever read 'As You Like It'? 'Lock the door on your wife's wit and it will out at the casement.' Have a care, my friend. I am about the only woman you have tried to make a fool of and haven't succeeded, and so you perhaps have a kind of respect for my intelligence, and I give you warning.”