Marian understood that if her bargain with Maddison was to last, it must be made satisfying to him as well as to herself. She did not think that because the first skirmish had been won the remainder of the campaign would be easy and necessarily victorious. She rejoiced in having won her freedom from the shackles of matrimony, but did not overlook the fact that her foothold in her new world was precarious, and that a single false step might bring her to trouble far worse than that from which she had escaped.

Inexperience was her chief weakness. Intuition, impulse and insight she possessed in high degree, but these alone would not suffice her, would not enable her to make her new position unassailable. It was certain, once the first rush of pleasurable emotion was over, that Maddison would begin to weigh the consequences of what he had done, that he would question whether stress of circumstances had not driven him to act foolishly in tying himself so closely to her. He would study her keenly to find out whether she was really charming or only appeared so to him. The woman desired is so often more desirable than the woman won. It must be her unremitting task never to disappoint him in any way, and in this the chief difficulty would be to know where to draw the line between the utter submission to his will which might lead to rapid satiation and the making it difficult for him to gain his every point without feeling that he was not being given all that he was paying for. She must make her hold upon him so tight that there would be no chance of his easily loosening it before she herself might desire to be free. She determined that no avoidable rashness or haste should endanger the future.

Maddison acted as she expected. After the first outburst of passion he was strongly impelled to draw back, to survey critically the situation into which he had been drawn almost against his will, and certainly against his better judgment, and to ask himself repeatedly if there could be any continued content for him in this liaison.

He settled Marian in a pretty flat not far from his studio, and the first test to which he put her was to watch carefully her taste in the decorating and furnishing of her new home.

“I want everything to be just what you like,” she said to him, as they surveyed the bare, unpapered rooms. “It is so lovely to start with everything to do and not to have to put up with what other people have put up. Everything must be just what you like, George.”

He laughed.

“What I like?—What you like.”

“Perhaps we shall both like the same things! Though it’s cheeky of me to imagine that my taste could be as good as yours. I don’t think I shall want anything you will consider dreadful, but you must teach me what are the best things. Only, do let everything be pretty and quiet—and not too many things. And don’t let’s go to one shop and get everything there; I’d much rather do it bit by bit. I want a home—our home—not a gimcrack shop or a ready-made bandbox as if I were a new hat—a real home.”

She spoke the word almost sadly, and turning away from him, went across the room and looked out of the window at the canal, the noisy road, the vast vistas of houses and the dun-colored sky. Her tone touched him, as she had hoped it would; there rushed in on him a sudden realization that he had taken into his keeping a human soul, a lonely soul that had called to him for help.

“Don’t think I’m ungrateful—talking like this,” she said, going back to him and laying her hands on his shoulders; “but—I do love you so much, and I do want to be what you want me to be—so that you will go on loving me. Teach me. You’re so strong and I’m so weak. You’re able to do so much for me and I can do so little for you. I’ll try hard to make you so happy that you’ll—never be sorry.”

He took her face between his hands, looking into her deep, eager eyes, then drew her close to him, kissing her again and again, eagerly, passionately. She lay passive in his arms, her head on his shoulder. Then forced herself quick apart.

“Don’t, don’t, George! We mustn’t be too happy—it can’t last.”

“Can’t it? Why not? We’ll just see. But at any rate we must try to be comfortable as well as happy. And for comfort, more than bare walls and boards are needed.”

“The Nest,” as Marian called the little flat, was quickly put into habitable order, though in accordance with her wish only essentials were bought en bloc and details were left over for gradual treatment. It was a cozy nest: a tiny drawing room where the prevailing colors were gold and green: a brown and red dining room; the bedroom a bower of blue and white; a neat entrance hall, which Maddison had fitted up with dark wainscoting which he had bought from an old farmhouse.

Meanwhile Marian stayed at an hotel, spending long hours every day with Maddison, at his studio or shopping with him; watching the progress made at “The Nest”; dining with him every night at various restaurants, reveling in her luxurious freedom. But he soon tired of this vagabondish life, which had not any novelty for him, and she discreetly made pretense of sharing his desire for quiet and of rejoicing with him when the day came for her installation in her new domain.

It was with a sense almost of nervousness that he dressed on the first evening that she was to be his hostess. The night was dark though the sky was full of stars; the air was keen and frosty. As he walked along, the feeling of shyness grew stronger; it was almost as if he had been a lover going forth to woo. How great a part of his life Marian had become! It was not merely her beauty that he loved: there was so much of refinement and, as he believed, such utter sincerity in her, that she had caught firm hold of him. He must not hurt her by word or look or deed.

The drawing room was empty when he entered it, and he glanced impatiently at the clock, thinking that women are always late. He stepped across toward her bedroom, but again the sense of shyness took hold on him; he stopped. There seemed to him now to be something gross about such familiarity. Then the door opened and Marian came quietly in, radiantly lovely in a soft, clinging gown of dull crimson and flame-color, a red chrysanthemum in her hair; a bright flush on her cheeks, a look of glad welcome in her eyes.

“Isn’t it nice, George?” she said, taking his hands in her own and looking up merrily. “Our little nest. I’ve been exploring it all day, as though I didn’t know everything in it; trying all the chairs, strumming on the piano, tasting everything as it were—and doesn’t it taste sweet? Thank you—thank you—thank you——!”

He held her face close to his; the scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath intoxicated him as he kissed her and pressed her close.

“You do love me, really love me, George?”

He kissed her again.

“I do, my dear, I do. You’re a witch. I often thought I should never love any woman really, though I very nearly loved you when you were a little country girl. Then you come along and just wind yourself into my life and make me forget everything except you.”

“Everything except me,” she repeated dreamily, “and I forget everything except you. I feel just like Cinderella must have done when she met the prince, only this is all real, real, all real. Now, come along; you’re a man, and—dinner is ready. Come, give me your arm and lead your hostess in.”

The dining table was plainly but daintily furnished; pretty flowers, simple china, cheap green German glass, a homely dinner, light Rhine wine, red and white, good coffee, mellow liqueurs. There was nothing to remind him of the garish restaurant life they had been leading, no touch of meretriciousness or hint of sham.

When the servant left them, Marian drew her chair close to his, filled his glass and her own.

“Have you no toast to propose?” she asked.

“Yes, but no wine in the world is good enough to drink it in, dear. You—you!”

“I’ve a better toast—and it’s the wish, not the wine, that counts—We. We!”

“You’re right! We! Though I should be nothing without you. We!”

They clinked glasses and drank.

“How nice and quiet it is here!” she said. “Just you and I, and all the rest of the world shut out. I wonder——”

“What?”

“Should we have been as happy if you had quite loved me then?”

“We were different then.”

“Yes, how different!” said Marian; “I at any rate. I daresay you haven’t changed much. You were grown-up then, but I was merely a child. I don’t know that I am very much more now, am I?”

She laughed lightly as she spoke, and glanced at him; then laughed again as she leaned back in her chair and nibbled a marron glacÉ.

“A child!” she went on. “Am I anything more than a mere grown-up child? I don’t think I can be much more. I don’t want to really grow up. Just a Cinderella, whom you found sitting among the ashes. I’d never met a prince before, so—I let you carry me off in your fairy hansom. So—they lived happily ever afterward. I wonder, did they?”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her folded hands.

“What a way to talk on our first night here! What nonsense!”

“It’s nice to talk nonsense sometimes.”

“Yes, but only jolly nonsense. I’ll tell you something that will make you laugh. Do you know—I felt quite—nervous coming here to-night.”

“Quite right. Any man going to dine with a lovely lady should feel nervous.”

“I was rather glad I felt that way,” he continued. “I don’t want——”

“What don’t you want?”

“It’s rather awkward to say. I’ll tell you another time. Let’s talk about something else.”

“To-night—anything you like and only what you like,” she answered, curious, however, to know what he had in his mind.

“Now I’m going to be serious,” she went on after a moment’s pause; “I want to say something straight out. I know what people think of me; I know that I can only have a part of your life, that is, if you’re going to be happy. I don’t want you to give up anything for me, or any of your friends. Don’t think I’m a baby and will cry if I can’t always have what I’d love to have always. We can never be anything more to each other; we can’t marry—Edward won’t let us: he thinks divorce wicked. You understand? And now—come along into the next room; I’ll graciously permit you to smoke. It’s nice and cozy there. You sit in the corner of the sofa—poke the fire first—and I’ll snuggle up against you.”

He woke toward dawn, the late winter dawn, when gray light was furtively peeping through the curtains. She lay with her cheek on the pillow, her hair straying over in gorgeous cords. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the lace upon her bosom, the beating pulse in a blue vein. He wondered at her loveliness; he marveled at his love for her.

She stirred; slowly opened her eyes; smiled at him; then slipped her arm round his neck and drew his head down upon her shoulder.

For the moment she was self-forgetful.