Forster’s study was the smallest room in the mansion, furnished very plainly but cosily, and shut off by two baize doors from the rest of the house. It contained, besides the ordinary furniture, a few favourite pictures in water-colour, and a small number of books, selected from the shelves of the library. Here Forster spent many a pleasant evening, following those studies in early English poetry and literature which were his chief recreation.

The couple entered and seated themselves. Madeline had her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the fire, but she was fully conscious that her husband, leaning back in his writing chair, had his eyes intently upon her face. What could it mean? What was coming? She waited and trembled.

‘My dear Madeline,’ he said at last, ‘I have been thinking about you all day long. That, of course, is nothing unusual, for I need not tell you that you are ever uppermost in my thoughts; but to-day I have been much troubled on your account.’

She started and looked at him. What did he mean? His face was curiously grave, and in his eyes there was the shadow of a great and wistful pain.

‘I am sorry you have been troubled,’ she said in a low sad voice, ‘and that I have been the cause.’

‘Nay, my dear, it is no fault of yours; but the truth is I am very anxious. Sometimes of late—not always, but sometimes—I have thought that you are a little disappointed, a little weary. All my wish, all the dream of my life, is to see you happy; and yet——’

He paused, and passed his hand across his eyes; for tears were there.

‘Do not think I am unhappy,’ she replied. ‘I am not. I am happier than I deserve.’

‘This is a dull house, I know,’ continued Forster, as if pursuing his own thoughts, ‘and Margaret, I am afraid, a somewhat dull companion. It is not at all the life which you have been accustomed to, and I do not wonder that you find it dull. Well, how shall we brighten it?’ Here his face was lit by a loving smile. ‘How shall I make my darling happy? I think I have discovered the way. Indeed, if I had not been a commonplace fool, I might have discovered it long before.’

Still more puzzled than ever, she kept her eyes fixed upon his face; then seeing him smile so brightly, so kindly, she drew near to him and kissed him.

‘Don’t cry, my darling!’

‘I can’t help it—you are so good to me!’

‘Not half so good as you deserve. Now listen—I have settled it. You shall return to the stage.’

She started in amazement.

‘No, no!’

‘But yes! Your divine gift shall not perish from want of use; you shall go back to the Art which you so love, and I—I shall be by, to rejoice in your happiness and your success.’

Instead of receiving the proposal with joy, as he had anticipated, Madeline rose, trembling and very pale.

‘Do not decide hastily,’ said Forster, gently, ‘but think it well over.’

‘It is quite unnecessary—I shall never act again; never! never!’

‘Madeline!’

‘I have disgraced you enough already.’

‘Disgraced me—God forbid! Madeline, you are my pride, my treasure—only honour can come to me through you. Don’t think I am such a Philistine as to underrate your gifts, or the art you delight to follow. When I persuaded you to adopt this quiet life, I thought it might be better for your peace of mind, for your health. I see that I was wrong. Genius like yours cannot be contented with the mere humdrum of an English home. I was selfish, dear. You shall be my Imogen again, and, as I said, I will share your happy triumphs.’

‘It is impossible,’ cried Madeline, impetuously. ‘I hate the stage. Rather than return to it I would die.’

It was now Forster’s turn to be amazed.

‘Hate the stage!’ he echoed. ‘Ah, you do not mean what you say.’

‘But I do mean it. When I first acted it was for my guardian’s sake—to make him happy, and, perhaps, rich. But I never loved the life, and now............