It was early morning, and a filmy white shadow pervaded the room. For a
moment she did not know where she was; she saw the ghostly shadows of
chairs, of the chest of drawers, of a high cupboard. Then the large
picture of "The Crucifixion," very, very dim, reminded her. She knew
where she was; she turned and saw her husband sleeping at her side,
huddled, like a child, his face on his arm, gently breathing, in the
deepest sleep. She watched him. There had been a moment that night when
she had hated him, hated him so bitterly that she could have fought him
and even killed him. There had been another moment after that, when she
had been so miserable that her own death seemed the only solution, when
she had watched him tumble into sleep and had herself lain, with
burning eyes and her flesh dry and hot, staring into the dark, ashamed,
humiliated. Then the old Maggie had come to her rescue, the old Maggie
who bade her make the best of her conditions whatever they might be,
who told her there was humour in everything, hope always, courage
everywhere, and that in her own inviolable soul lay her strength, that
no one could defeat her did she not defeat herself.

Now, most strangely, in that early light, she felt a great tenderness
for him, the tenderness of the mother for the child. She put out her
hand, touched his shoulder, stroked it with her hand, laid her head
against it. He, murmuring in his sleep, turned towards her, put his arm
around her and so, in the shadow of his heart, she fell into deep,
dreamless slumber.

At breakfast that morning she felt with him a strange shyness and
confusion. She had never been shy with him before. At the very first
she had been completely at her ease; that had been one of his greatest
attractions for her. But now she realised that she would be for a whole
fortnight alone with him, that she did not know him in the least, and
that he himself was strangely embarrassed by his own discoveries that
he was making.

So they, both of them, took the world that was on every side of them,
put it in between them and left their personal relationship to wait for
a better time.

Maggie was childishly excited. She had, for the first time in her life,
a house of her own to order and arrange; by the middle of that first
afternoon she had forgotten that Paul existed.

She admitted to herself at once, so that there should be no pretence
about the matter, that the house was hideous. "Yes, it's hideous," she