house forms a link in the chain which binds two married people long
after love has died out--if, indeed, it ever existed between them. Two
human beings--who differ as much as two human beings always must do--are
compelled to adopt the same tastes, the same outlook. The home is built
upon this incessant conflict. The struggle often goes on in silence, but
it is not the less bitter, even when concealed.

How often Richard and I gave way to each other with a consideration
masking an annoyance that rankled more than a violent quarrel would have
done.... What a profound contempt I felt for his tastes; and, without
saying it in words, how he disapproved of mine!

No! His home was not mine, although we lived in it like an ideal couple,
at one on all points. My person for his money--that was the bargain,
crudely but truthfully expressed.

* * * * *

Just as one arranges the scenery for a _tableau vivant_, I prepared my
"living grave" in this house, which Malthe built in ignorance of its
future occupant. And here I have learnt that joy of possession which
hitherto I have only known in respect of my jewellery.

This house is really my home. My first and only home. Everything here is
dear to me, because it _is_ my own.

I love the very earthworms because they do good to my garden. The birds
in the trees round about the house are my property. I almost wish I
could enclose the sky and clouds within a wall and make them mine.