"Oliver, look at me."
Slowly he raised his head.
"I don't see why——" he began, but she was so beautiful, so radiant, that he caught his breath and faltered.
She sat down beside him.
"Ah, but you will," she said. "It's very simple, dear. Even David understands."
"What does he think?"
"He thinks as I do," she said quickly. "He was quite relieved; honestly, dear. He didn't want any homesick woman spoiling his songs for him in South America. And then I suggested Frances Maury in my place. She has a lovely voice, and she'll jump at the chance."
"I've never heard her, but I'm sure she can't sing as well as you," he said, with returning gloom. "And it was only for two months."
She laughed as at an unreasonable child.
"It isn't the two months, dear. It's our whole life. There would be other partings, you see, other interests drawing me away. And if it became easier to leave you, then I should know that everything was wrong between us; but if it kept on being hard to divide myself between you and my work, then my work would suffer and so would you. Either way, it couldn't go on. I'm not big enough to do both," she said.