ll now; all from the
beginning. He had not minded in the least that she should think him
(as he still believed) self-centred, cruel, or neglectful; that had not
pained him in the least, he had not really minded her publishing the
book. No, what had really hurt him always--she saw now--was the book's
success; what Ruth had called his own eclipse. He had worked, as he
said, for fifteen years; he had called it a "job"; and in one moment
she had cut him out!

That, Helena decided in a rapid flash, was the whole mainspring of his
anger.

And was she to sacrifice her work to satisfy the petty vanity of such a
man? Was she to admit her failure, to feign life-long admiration for
his work, when she knew that with practice she could almost certainly
do better?

No!

The answer came decisively.

As if to clinch it, she thrust the manuscript back in its drawer and
turned the key with a decisive twist.

She would not sacrifice her own career to his conceit. He had spoilt
Ruth's life, used her as a housekeeper until she was too old for
anybody else; then turned her out--and now he thought he could spoil
hers. And every one would spare him, because they were sorry! Why
should she spare him? Why should she be sorry?

Helena stood with her fingers still upon the key, transfixed by the
enormity of this new thought.

Why should she either smother her ambition or else creep away, sparing
him the reason; leaving Ruth to be his victim once again?--poor Ruth,
emerging into life again, escaped from this vampire who had left her an
old withered woman at the age of forty.

No, she would not. Others might spare him; _she_ would tell the truth.

She would go now, whilst Ruth was upstairs, and would tell him what
she, what Ruth, what everybody thought. She would tell him that he was
murdering the love of those who loved him by his own selfish blindness;
that all this nonsense about moods and inspiration was mere pose, that
you could write quite well wherever your two candlesticks were put;
that every one saw through him but himself; that he should be proud of
his wife's success, not jealous, if he had a spark of decent feeling in
him; would tell him she too was ambitious, though a woman, she too had
a life to live; that she was bored all day, with him at work, and now
she meant to have her own work too; that Zoe had been right--yes, had
been Helena, Helena not then but Helena as she was now; that she saw
now, as Zoe had decl