an do."

Gwendolen turned cold. There was not only the cruel disappointment;
there was the immediate conviction that her husband had determined to
take her because he would not leave her out of his sight; and probably
this dual solitude in a boat was the more attractive to him because it
would be wearisome to her. They were not on the plank-island; she felt
it the more possible to begin a contest. But the gleaming content had
died out of her. There was a change in her like that of a glacier after
sunset.

"I would rather not go in the boat," she said. "Take some one else with
you."

"Very well; if you don't go, I shall not go," said Grandcourt. "We
shall stay suffocating here, that's all."

"I can't bear to go in a boat," said Gwendolen, angrily.

"That is a sudden change," said Grandcourt, with a slight sneer. "But,
since you decline, we shall stay indoors."

He laid down his hat again, lit his cigar, and walked up and down the
room, pausing now and then to look out of the windows. Gwendolen's
temper told her to persist. She knew very well now that Grandcourt
would not go without her; but if he must tyrannize over her, he should
not do it precisely in the way he would choose. She would oblige him to
stay in the hotel. Without speaking again, she passed into the
adjoining bedroom and threw herself into a chair with her anger, seeing
no purpose or issue--only feeling that the wave of evil had rushed back
upon her, and dragged her away from her momentary breathing-place.

Presently Grandcourt came in with his hat on, but threw it off and sat
down sideways on a chair nearly in front of her, saying, in his
superficial drawl--

"Have you come round yet? or do you find it agreeable to be out of
temper. You make things uncommonly pleasant for me."

"Why do you want to make them unpleasant for _me_?" said Gwendolen,
getting helpless again, and feeling the hot tears rise.

"Now, will you be good enough to say what it is you have to complain
of?" said Grandcourt, looking into her eyes, and using his most inward
voice. "Is it that I stay indoors when you stay?"

She could give no answer. The sort of truth that made any excuse for
her anger could not be uttered. In the conflict of despair and
humiliation she began to sob, and the tears rolled down her cheeks--a
form of agitation which she had never shown before in her husband's
presence.

"I hope this is useful," said Grandcourt, after a moment or two. "All I
can sa