The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. Sindlesham tried. He walked in her direction. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. Annabel entered. ’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out.
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