“D’you—d’you mean to become a Roman Catholic and a nun?” he exclaimed, feeling, absurdly perhaps, almost afraid and half indignant.
“No. I’ve never wished to change my religion. There are Anglican sisterhoods, you know.”
“But your singing!”
“I only intended to sing for a time. Then some day, when I felt quite ready, I meant—”
“But you married me?” he interrupted.
“Yes. So you see I gave it all up.”
“But you said it was the child which had brought you a sensation of release!”
“Perhaps you have never been a prisoner of a desire which threatens to dominate your soul forever,” she said, quietly evading his point and looking down, so that he could not see her eyes. “Look, he’s waking!”
Surely she had moved abruptly and the movement had awakened the child. She began playing with him, and the conversation was broken.
The Clarke trial came on in May, when Robin was becoming almost elderly, having already passed no less than ten weeks in the midst of this wicked world. On the day before it opened, Daventry made Dion promise to come into court at least once to hear some of the evidence.