There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit.

It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him.

“Respect what?” she asked.

But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it.

“Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?” she said. “Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?”