"No—not London, dear! I know it well. We should be unhappy there."
"Why?"
"Can't you think?"
"Because Arabella is there?"
"That's the chief reason.
"But in the country I shall always be uneasy lest there should be some more of our late experience. And I don't care to lessen it by explaining, for one thing, all about the boy's history. To cut him off from his past I have determined to keep silence. I am sickened of ecclesiastical work now, and I shouldn't like to accept it if offered me!"
You ought to have learned Classic. Gothic is barbaric art, after all. Pugin was wrong, and Wren was right. Remember the interior of Christminster Cathedral—almost the first place in which we looked in each other's faces. Under the picturesqueness of those Norman details one can see the grotesque childishness of uncouth people trying to imitate the vanished Roman forms, remembered by dim tradition only."
"Yes, you have half converted me to that view by what you have said before. But one can work, and despise what one does. I must do something, if not church-gothic."
"I wish we could both follow an occupation in which personal circumstances don't count," she said, smiling up wistfully. "I am as disqualified for teaching as you are for ecclesiastical art. You must fall back upon railway stations, bridges, theatres, music-halls, hotels—everything that has no connection with conduct."
"I am not skilled in those.... I ought to take to bread-baking. I grew up in the baking business with aunt, you know. But even a baker must be conventional to get customers."
"Unless he keeps a cake and gingerbread stall at markets and fairs, where people are gloriously indifferent to everything except the quality of the goods."
