"Of course we shall stay in this house. It suits us admirably. Besides, to move simply because—"
"Your work comes before all."
He compressed his lips. He began to hate his own talent.
"I think the best thing to do," he said, "would be for me to look for a studio somewhere. I could easily find one, put a piano and a few chairs in, and go there every day to work. Lots of men do that sort of thing. It's like going to an office."
"Capital!" she said. "Then you'll be quite isolated, and you'll get on ever so fast. Won't you?"
"I think probably I could work."
"And you will. Before we married you worked so hard. I want"—she got up, came to him, and put her hand in his—"I want to feel that marriage has helped you, not hindered you, in your career. I want to feel that I urge you on, don't hold you back."
Claude longed to tell her to leave him alone. But he thought of coming isolation in the studio, and refrained. Bending down, he kissed her.
"It will be all right," he said, "when I've got a place where I can be quite alone for some hours each day."