ll that had filtered through to him. The whole dwelling was
pathetic, and she thought of the splendours of her own daily life, of the
absolute unimportance to her of such sums as would keep Musa in content for
a year or for ten years, and of the grandiose, majestic, dazzling career of
herself and Mr. Gilman when their respective fortunes should be joined
together. And she mysteriously saw Mr. Gilman's face again, and that too
was pathetic. Everything was pathetic. She alone seemed to be hard,
dominating, overbearing. Her conscience waked to fresh activity. Was she
losing her soul? Where were her ideals? Could she really work in full
honesty for the feminist cause as the wife of a man like Mr. Gilman? He was
adorable: she felt in that moment that she had a genuine affection for him;
but could Mrs. Gilman challenge the police, retort audaciously upon
magistrates, and lie in prison? In a word, could she be a martyr? Would Mr.
Gilman, with all his amenability, consent? Would she herself consent?
Would it not be ridiculous? Thus her flying, shamed thoughts in front of
the waiting Musa!

"Then you aren't ill?" she began.

"Ill!" he exclaimed. "Why do you wish that I should be ill?"

As he answered her he removed his open fiddle case, with the violin inside
it, from the Louis Quatorze chair, and signed to her to sit down. She sat
down.

"I heard that--this morning--at the rehearsal----"

"Ah! You have heard that?"

"And I thought perhaps you were ill. So I came to see."

"What have you heard?"

"Frankly, Musa, it is said that you said you would not play to-night."

"Does it concern you?"

"It concerns everyone.... And you have been so good lately."

"Ah! I have been good lately. You have heard that. And did you expect me
to continue to be good when you returned to Paris and passed all your days
in public with that antique and grotesque Monsieur Gilman? All the world
sees you. I myself have seen you. It is horrible."

She controlled herself. And the fact that she was intensely flattered
helped her to do so.

"Now Musa," she said, firmly and kindly, as on previous occasions she had
spoken to him. "Do be reasonable. I refuse to be angry, and it is
impossible for you to insult me, however much you try. But do be
reasonable. Do think of the future. We are all wishing for your success. We
shall all be there. And now you say you aren't going to play. It is really
too much."

"You have perhaps bought tickets," said M