ight on the
literary horizon. But where would Georges Sand have been without De
Musset? They owe half their prestige to each other. While they were
alive every one talked of them, and now that they are dead reams are
written about them. Let us also go down to posterity together. All I
want is you; what you want is me. Will you--will you let me be to
you--De Musset?"

"What you really do want," said Beth, "is a sense of humour."

"For God's sake, do not be trivial!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think
what this means to me--how I have set my heart on it--how I already
seem to hear the men at the clubs mention my name and yours when I
pass. Night after night I have paced up and down outside this house,
looking up at your window, thinking it all out."

Beth flushed angrily. "I consider that a most improper proceeding,"
she said, "and I do not know how you can excuse it to yourself."

"I--much may be excused when a man feels as strongly as I do," he
protested.

"And how about your wife?" said Beth, "where do you place her in your
plans? Has she no feelings to be considered?"

"I shall not hurt her feelings, I assure you, I never do," he
answered. "I keep her in a quiet country place so that she may hear no
gossip, and I excuse my long absences from home on the plea of work.
She understands that my interests would suffer if I were not on the
spot."

"In other words, you lie to your wife," said Beth, aghast at the
shabby deceit.

"That is scarcely polite language," he rejoined in an offended tone.

"It is correct language," she retorted. "We shall understand what we
are talking about much better if we call things by their right names.
But are you never afraid of what your wife may be driven to in the
dulness of the country, while you are here in town, dancing attendance
on other men's wives?"

"Never in the least," he answered complacently. "She is entirely
devoted to me and to her duty. Her faith in me is absolute."

"And so you deceive her."

"I am not bound to tell her all my doings," he protested.

"You are in honour bound not to deceive her," Beth said; "and if you
deceive her it is none the less low because she does not suspect you.
On the contrary. It seems to me that one of the worst things that can
happen to a man is to have docile women to deal with."

"I am grieved to hear you talk like that," he said. "I am really
grieved. It shows a want of refinement that surprises and shocks me. I
maintain that I