ssion, but that other with
its eager eyes humbly adoring her. The interminable journey ended all
too soon. She clung quite desperately to the Colonel's hand on the
platform at Charing Cross. When his kind face vanished she would be lost
indeed! Then, in the closed cab, she heard her husband's: "Aren't you
going to kiss me?" and submitted to his embrace.

She tried so hard to think: What does it matter? It's not I, not my
soul, my spirit--only my miserable lips!

She heard him say: "You don't seem too glad to see me!" And then: "I
hear you had young Lennan out there. What was HE doing?"

She felt the turmoil of sudden fear, wondered whether she was showing it,
lost it in unnatural alertness--all in the second before she answered:
"Oh! just a holiday."

Some seconds passed, and then he said:

"You didn't mention him in your letters."

She answered coolly: "Didn't I? We saw a good deal of him."

She knew that he was looking at her--an inquisitive, half-menacing
regard. Why--oh, why!--could she not then and there cry out: "And I love
him--do you hear?--I love him!" So awful did it seem to be denying her
love with these half lies! But it was all so much more grim and hopeless
than even she had thought. How inconceivable, now, that she had ever
given herself up to this man for life! If only she could get away from
him to her room, and scheme and think! For his eyes never left her,
travelling over her with their pathetic greed, their menacing inquiry,
till he said: "Well, it's not done you any harm. You look very fit."
But his touch was too much even for her self-command, and she recoiled as
if he had struck her.

"What's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

It seemed to her that he was jeering--then realized as vividly that he
was not. And the full danger to her, perhaps to Mark himself, of
shrinking from this man, striking her with all its pitiable force, she
made a painful effort, slipped her hand under his arm, and said: "I'm
very tired. You startled me."

But he put her hand away, and turning his face, stared out of the window.
And so they reached their home.

When he had left her alone, she remained where she was standing, by her
wardrobe, without sound or movement, thinking: What am I going to do?
How am I going to live?
IX

When Mark Lennan, travelling through from Beaulieu, reached his rooms in
Chelsea, he went at once to the little pile of his letters, twice hunted
through them, then stood v