He stopped abruptly.
"There you have it, Amanda. It's rant, perhaps. Sometimes I feel it's rant. And yet it's the breath of life to me.... There you are.... At last I've been able to break silence and tell you...."
He stopped with something like a sob and stood regarding the dusky mystery of her face. She stood quite still, she was just a beautiful outline in the twilight, her face was an indistinctness under the black shadow of her hair, with eyes that were two patches of darkness.
He looked at his watch, lifting it close to his face to see the time. His voice changed. "Well—if you provoke a man enough, you see he makes speeches. Let it be a lesson to you, Amanda. Here we are talking instead of going to our dinners. The car has been waiting ten minutes."
Amanda, so still, was the most disconcerting of all Amandas....
A strange exaltation seized upon her very suddenly. In an instant she had ceased to plot against him. A vast wave of emotion swept her forward to a resolution that astonished her.
"Cheetah!" she said, and the very quality of her voice had changed, "give me one thing. Stay until June with me."
"Why?" he asked.
Her answer came in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
"Because—now—no, I don't want to keep you any more—I am not trying to hold you any more.... I want...."
She came forward to him and looked up closely at his face.
"Cheetah," she whispered almost inaudibly, "Cheetah—I didn't understand. But now—. I want to bear your child."
He was astonished. "Old Leopard!" he said.
"No," she answered, putting her hands upon his shoulders and drawing very close to him, "Queen—-if I can be—to your King."
"You want to bear me a child!" he whispered, profoundly moved.
8
The Hindu agitators at the cavernous dinner under the House of Commons came to the conclusion that Benham was a dreamer. And over against Amanda at her dinner-party sat Sir Sidney Umber, one of those men who know that their judgments are quoted.
"Who is the beautiful young woman who is seeing visions?" he asked of his neighbour in confidential undertones....
He tittered. "I think, you know, she ought to seem just SLIGHTLY aware that the man to her left is talking to her...."
9
A few days later Benham went down to Cambridge, where Prothero was now a fellow of Trinity and Brissenden Trust Lecturer....
All through Benham's writing there was manifest a persuasion that in some way Prothero was necessary to his mind. It was as if he looked to Prothero to keep him real. He suspected even while he obeyed that upward flourish which was his own essential characteristic. He had a peculiar feeling that somehow that upward bias would betray him; that from exaltation he might presently float off, into the higher, the better, and so to complete unreality. He fled from priggishness and the terror of such sublimity alike to Prothero. Moreover, in relation to so many things Prothero in a peculiar distinctive manner SAW. He had less self-control than Benham, less integrity of purpose, less concentration, and things that were before his eyes were by the very virtue of these defects invariably visible to him. Things were able to insist upon themselves with him. Benham, on the other hand, when facts contradicted his purpose too stoutly, had a way of becoming blind to them. He repudiated inconvenient facts. He mastered and made his world; Prothero accepted and recorded his. Benham was a will towards the universe where Prothero was a perception and Amanda a confusing responsive activity. And it was because of his realization of this profound difference between them that he was possessed by the idea of taking Prothero with him about the world, as a detachable kind of vision—rather like that eye the Graiae used to hand one another....
After the busy sunlit streets of Maytime Cambridge, Prothero's rooms in Trinity, their windows full of Gothic perspectives and light-soaked blue sky, seemed cool and quiet. A flavour of scholarship pervaded them—a little blended with the flavour of innumerable breakfasts nearly but not completely forgotten. Prothero's door had been locked against the world, and he had appeared after a slight delay looking a little puffy and only apprehending who his visitor was after a resentful stare for the better part of a second. He might have been asleep, he might have been doing anything but the examination papers he appeared to be doing. The two men exchanged personal details; they had not met since some months before Benham' s marriage, and the visitor's eye went meanwhile from his host to the room and back to his host's face as though they were all aspects of the thing he was after, the Prothero humour, the earthly touch, the distinctive Prothero flavour. Then his eye was caught by a large red, incongruous, meretricious-looking volume upon the couch that had an air of having been flung aside, VENUS IN GEM AND MARBLE, its cover proclaimed....
His host followed that glance and blushed. "They send me all sorts of inappropriate stuff to review," he remarked.
And then he was denouncing celibacy.
The transition wasn't very clear to Benham. His mind had been preoccupied by the problem of how to open his own large project. Meanwhile Prothero got, as it were, the conversational bit between his teeth and bolted. He began to say the most shocking things right away, so that Benham's attention was caught in spite of himself.
"Inflammatory classics."
"What's that?"
"Celibacy, my dear Benham, is maddening me," said Prothero. "I can't stand it any longer."
It seemed to Benham that somewhere, very far away, in another world, such a statement might have been credible. Even in his own life,—it was now indeed a remote, forgotten stage—there had been something distantly akin....
"You're going to marry?"
"I must."
"Who's the lady, Billy?"
"I don't know. Venus."
His little red-brown eye met his friend's defiantly. "So far as I know, it is Venus Anadyomene." A flash of laughter passed across his face and left it still angrier, still more indecorously defiant. "I like her best, anyhow. I do, indeed. But, Lord! I feel that almost any of them—"
"Tut, tut!" said Benham.
Prothero flushed deeply but stuck to his discourse.
"Wasn't it always your principle, Benham, to look facts in the face? I am not pronouncing an immoral principle. Your manner suggests I am. I am telling you exactly how I feel. That is how I feel. I want—Venus. I don't want her to talk to or anything of that sort.... I have been studying that book, yes, that large, vulgar, red book, all the morning, instead of doing any work. Would you like to see it?... NO!...