Reginald's revelations were followed by a long silence, interrupted only
by the officiousness of the waiter. The spell once broken, they
exchanged a number of more or less irrelevant observations. Ethel's mind
returned, again and again, to the word he had not spoken. He had said
nothing of the immediate bearing of his monstrous power upon her own
life and that of Ernest Fielding.

At last, somewhat timidly, she approached the subject.

"You said you loved me," she remarked.

"I did."

"But why, then--"

"I could not help it."

"Did you ever make the slightest attempt?"

"In the horrible night hours I struggled against it. I even implored you
to leave me."

"Ah, but I loved you!"

"You would not be warned, you would not listen. You stayed with me, and
slowly, surely, the creative urge went out of your life."

"But what on earth could you find in my poor art to attract you? What
were my pictures to you?"