what I say--? We won't talk about class and that rot. If the man's
good enough, he's good enough by himself. But is he your
intellectual equal, nurse? After all, it's a big point. You don't
want to marry a man you can't talk to. Ciccio's a treat to be with,
because he's so natural. But it isn't a _mental_ treat--

Alvina thought of Mrs. Tuke, who complained that Tommy talked music
and pseudo-philosophy _by the hour_ when he was wound up. She saw
Effie's long, outstretched arm of repudiation and weariness.

"Of course!"--another of Mrs. Tuke's exclamations. "Why not _be_
atavistic if you _can_ be, and follow at a man's heel just because
he's a man. Be like barbarous women, a slave."

During all this, Ciccio stayed out of the room, as bidden. It was
not till Alvina sat before her mirror that he opened her door
softly, and entered.

"I come in," he said, and he closed the door.

Alvina remained with her hair-brush suspended, watching him. He came
to her, smiling softly, to take her in his arms. But she put the
chair between them.

"Why did you bring Mr. Tuke?" she said.

He lifted his shoulders.

"I haven't brought him," he said, watching her.

"Why did you show him the telegram?"

"It was Mrs. Tuke took it."

"Why did you give it her?"

"It was she who gave it me, in her room. She kept it in her room
till I came and took it."

"All right," said Alvina. "Go back to the Tukes." And she began
again to brush her hair.

Ciccio watched her with narrowing eyes.

"What you mean?" he said. "I shan't go, Allaye. You come with me."

"Ha!" she sniffed scornfully. "I shall go where I like."

But slowly he shook his head.

"You'll come, Allaye," he said. "You come with me, with Ciccio."

She shuddered at the soft, plaintive entreaty.

"How can I go with you? How can I depend on you at all?"

Again he shook his head. His eyes had a curious yellow fire,
beseeching, plaintive, with a demon quality of yearning compulsion.

"Yes, you come with me, Allaye. You come with me, to Italy. You
don't go to that other man. He is too old, not healthy. You come
with me to Italy. Why do you send a telegram?"

Alvina sat down and covered her face, trembling.

"I can't! I can't! I can't!" she moaned. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you come with me. I have money. You come with me, to my place
in the mountains, to my uncle's house. Fine house, you like it. Come
with me, Allaye."

She could not look at him.

"Why do you want me