Three days after, Emily tore up one of her songs, because Mrs. Bentley had
sung it without her leave. And so on and so on, week after week. No sooner
was one quarrel allayed than signs of another began to appear. Hubert
despaired. 'How is this to end?' he asked himself every day. Mrs. Bentley
begged him to cancel her promise, and allow her to go. But that was
impossible. He could not remain alone with Emily; if he left her she would
not fail to believe that he had gone after her rival. The situation had
become so tense that they ended by discussing these questions almost
without reserve. To make matters worse, Emily had begun visibly to lose her
health. There was neither colour in her cheeks nor light in her eyes; she
hardly slept at all, and had grown more than ever like a little shadow. The
doctor had been summoned, and, after prescribing a tonic, had advised quiet
and avoidance of all excitement. Therefore Hubert and Mrs. Bentley agreed
never to meet except when Emily was present, and then strove to speak as
little as possible to each other. But the very fact of having to restrain
themselves in looks, glances, and every slightest word--for Emily
misinterpreted all things--whetted their appetites for each other's
society.

In the misery of his study, when he watched the sheet of paper, he often
sought relief in remembrance of her sweet manner, and the happy morning he
had spent in her companionship. What he had written under the direct
influence of her inspiration still seemed to him to be less bad than the
rest of his play; and he began to feel sure that, if ever this play were
written, it would be written in the benign charm of her sweet
encouragement, in the reposeful shadow of her presence. But that presence
was forbidden him--that presence that seemed so necessary; and for what
reason? Turning on the circumstances of his life, he raged against them,
declaring that it would be folly to allow his very life's desire to be