He broke down and wept, and began to tumble out the whole ridiculous story of his life; his perpetual disappointment: his terror of being bound down to anything except the work in which he felt so free, so wholly master of himself and his destiny; his delight in at last finding in her a true companion who, unlike all other women, allowed him to be something more than her possession.
'I'm afraid,' he said in the end, 'that I have never understood women.'
'Leave it to me.' Poor Clara felt that if she tried to explain any more her head would burst.
He looked up at her gratefully and was at once happy again.
'It was my fault,' said Clara. 'It wouldn't have happened if I'd thought about life at all. But it was so wonderful being with you and making your work come to life that I never thought about the rest.... I never looked at it from the woman's point of view, as, being a woman, I ought to have done.... I think the shock has made me a woman.... I don't think anything will ever make you a man.'
Charles gaped at her, but was not the least bit hurt. He did not particularly want to be a man as manhood is generally understood.
'Yes,' he said, 'Lord Verschoyle is deeply interested, and he has two hundred thousand a year.'
'Wait a moment,' replied Clara, 'I'll go and see if she has left her address.'
She ran downstairs, but Kitty had left no address. As Clara, considering the matter, decided that meant either that she intended to make trouble or that she had good reason for waiting before she made it.
When she returned, Charles was lover-like in his gratitude, but she repulsed him, told him that he must get on with his designs for The Tempest and she would see what could be done about his troubles. For the present, for a little while at all events, she proposed to leave him and to stay with Julia Wainwright.