He paused. She turned to the tea-things, and lit the spirit lamp under the kettle. It seemed a little difficult to do, and her hand trembled. When she turned on him again it was with an effort.
"Does Marjorie like the life you are leading?" she asked, and pressed her lips together tightly.
He spoke with a bitterness in his voice that astonished her. "Oh, she likes it."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded.
"She won't like it without you."
"Oh, that's too much! It's her world. It's what she's done—what she's made. She can have it; she can keep it. I've played my part and got it for her. But now—now I'm free to go. I will go. She's got everything else. I've done my half of the bargain. But my soul's my own. If I want to go away and think, I will. Not even Marjorie shall stand in the way of that."
She made no answer to this outburst for a couple of seconds. Then she threw out, "Why shouldn't Marjorie think, too?"
He considered that for some moments. "She doesn't," he said, as though the words came from the roots of his being.
"But you two——"