t it must be
to her. He thought of her as a hard, revengeful woman, who, because hurt
herself, was going to harm to the full measure of her power. He despised
the pride, the poise, in which she cloaked what he thought of as her
hard, mean spirit; he thought people a pretty poor sort for admiring
that pride. But now, as he saw her face when she was not expecting it to
be clearly seen, he wondered just what she was actually like, just what
she really felt. It would seem that revenge must be appeased by now; or
at least that that one form of taking it--not getting a divorce--must
have lost its satisfaction. It would not seem a very satisfying thing to
fill one's life with. And what else was there! What _was_ she getting
out of it! The question gave him a new interest in her.

Caught in the crowd leaving the theatre he watched her again for a
moment, standing among the people who were waiting for motors and
carriages. The thin black scarf around her head blew back and Edith
Lawrence adjusted it for her. Her car came up and one of the men helped
her into it. There was a dispute; it seemed someone was meaning to go
with her and she was protesting that it was not necessary. Then they
were saying goodnight to her and she was going away alone. He watched
the car for a moment as it was halted by a carriage, then skirted it and
sharply turned the corner.

He had intended to take one of his friends home with him, had thought it
would be too dismal alone there in the bare place that last night. But
now he did not want anyone with him, did not want to have to talk.
Though when he let himself in the front door he wished he was not alone.
It was pretty dismal to be coming into the abandoned house. He had a
flashing sense of how absolutely empty the place was--empty of the
people who had lived there, empty even of those people's things. There
was no one to call out to him. His step made a loud noise on the bare
stairs. He went back down stairs for a drink of water; he walked through
the living-room, the dining-room, the kitchen. There used to be people
there--things doing. Not any more. A bare house now--so empty that it
was _queer_. He hurried back upstairs. At the head of the stairs he
stood still and listened to the stillness from the bedrooms. Then he
shook himself angrily, stamped on to his own room, loudly banged the
door behind him and whistled as he hurriedly got ready for bed.

He tried to go right to sleep, but could not get