isn't much we have, is it?'

'I think it's a great deal,' laughed Gerald. 'It's quite enough to be
very happy on. And, first and foremost, when it's a question of
happiness, and since you are so dear and generous, I shall be able to
hunt at last and keep my own horses. I'm sick of being dependent on my
friends for a mount now and then. Not that you'll have much sympathy
with that particular form of happiness, I know,' he added, smiling, as
he put his hand on her shoulder and scanned the next document.

Althea was silent for a moment. She hardly knew what the odd shock that
went through her meant; then she recognised that it was fear. To see it
as that gave her courage; at all events, love Gerald as she did, she
would not be a coward for love of him. The effort was in her voice,
making it tremulous, as she said: 'But, Gerald, you know I don't like
hunting; you know I think it cruel.'

He looked at her; he smiled. 'So do I, you nice dear.'

'But you won't pain me by doing it--you will give it up?'

It was now his turn to look really a little frightened. 'But it's in my
blood and bones, the joy of it, Althea. You wouldn't, seriously, ask me
to give it up for a whim?'

'Oh, it isn't a whim.'

'A theory, then.'

'I think you ought to give it up for a theory like that one. Yes, I even
think that you ought to give it up to please me.'

'But why shouldn't you give up your theory to please me?' He had turned
his eyes on his papers now, and was feigning to scan them.

'It is a question of right and wrong to me.'

Gerald was silent for a moment. He was not irritated, she saw that; not
angry. He quite recognised her point, and he didn't like her the less
for holding to it; but he recognised his own point just as clearly, and,
after the little pause, she found that he was resolute in holding to it.

'I'm afraid I can't give it up--even to please you, dear,' he said.

Althea sat looking down at the papers that lay on the table; she saw
them through tears of helpless pain. There was nothing to be done and
nothing to be said. She could not tell him that, since he did not love
her sufficiently to give up a pleasure for her sake, she must give him
up; nor could she tell him that he must not use her money for pleasures
that she considered wrong. But it was this second impossible retort--the
first, evidently, did not cross his mind--that was occupying Gerald. He
was not slow in seeing delicacies, though he was slow indeed in