're mad. Your attitude is insulting. You have not given
one thought to my feelings. And if I said 'yes' to you, you'd marry me
whatever my feelings were. You think only of yourself. It is the old
attitude. And when I offer you my friendship, you instantly decline it.
That shows how horribly French you are. Frenchmen can't understand the idea
of friendship between a man and a girl. They sneer at it. It shows what
brutes you all are. Why should I marry you? I should have nothing to gain
by it. You'll be famous. Well, what do I care? Do you think it would be
very amusing for me to be the wife of a famous man that was run after by
every silly creature in Paris or London or New York? Not quite! And I
don't see myself. You don't like young girls. I don't like young men.
They're rude and selfish and conceited. They're like babies."

"The fact is," Musa broke in, "you are in love with the old Gilman."

"He is not old!" cried Audrey. "In some ways he is much less worn out than
you are. And supposing I am in love with Mr. Gilman? Does it regard you? Do
not be rude. Mr. Gilman is at any rate polite. He is not capricious. He is
reliable. You aren't reliable. You want someone upon whom you can rely. How
nice for your wife! You play the violin. True. You are a genius. But you
cannot always be on the platform. And when you are not on the platform...!
Heavens! If I wish to hear you play I can buy a seat and come and hear you
and go away again. But your wife, responsible for your career--she will
never be free. Her life will be unbearable. What anxiety! Misery, I should
say rather! You would have the lion's share of everything. Now for myself I
intend to have the lion's share. And why shouldn't I? Isn't it about time
some woman had it? You can't have the lion's share if you are not free. I
mean to be free. If I marry I shall want a husband that is not a prison....
Thank goodness I've got money.... Without that----!"

"Then," said Musa, "you have no feeling for me."

"Love?" she laughed exasperatingly.

"Yes," he said.

"Not that much!" She snapped her fingers. "But"--in a changed tone--"I
_should_ like to like you. I shall be very disgusted if your concerts are
not a tremendous success. And they will not be if you don't keep control
over yourself and practise properly. And it will be your fault."

"Then, good-bye!" he said, coldly ignoring all her maternal suggestions.
And turned away.

"Where are you going to?"

He stopped.