he truth.
During the former I believed that my happiness lay in marrying her,
but in the latter I recognised that a girl who meant nothing to my
better self had grown of a sudden painfully yet exquisitely
desirable. But even during the ascendancy of the latter physical
mood, she had only to seat herself beside the harp and sing, for the
former state to usurp its place, I watched, I listened, and I
yielded. Her voice, aided by the soft plucking of the strings,
completed my defeat. Now, strangest of all, I must add one other
thing, and I will add it without comment. For though sure of its
truth, I would not dwell upon it. And it is this: that in her singing,
as also in her playing, in the "colour" of her voice as also in the
very attitude and gestures of her figure as she sat beside the
instrument, there lay, though marvellously hidden, something gross.
It woke a response of something in myself, hitherto unrecognized,
that was similarly gross....

It was in the empty billiard-room when the climax came, a calm evening
of late July, the dusk upon the lawn, and most of the house-party
already gone upstairs to dress for dinner. I had been standing beside
the open window for some considerable time, motionless, and listening
idly to the singing of a thrush or blackbird in the shrubberies--when
I heard the faint twanging of the harp-strings in the room behind me,
and turning, saw that Marion had entered and was there beside the
instrument. At the same moment she saw me, rose from the harp and
came forward. During the day she had kept me at a distance. I was
hungry for her voice and touch; her presence excited me--and yet I
was half afraid.

"What! Already dressed!" I exclaimed, anxious to avoid a talk a deux.
"I must hurry then, or I shall be later than usual."

I crossed the room towards the door, when she stopped me with her
eyes.

"Do you really mean to say you don't know the difference between an
evening frock and--and this," she answered lightly, holding out the
skirt in her fingers for me to touch. And in the voice was that hint
of a sensual caress that, I admit, bewildered both my will and
judgment. She was very close and her fragrance came on me with her
breath, like the perfume of the summer garden. I touched the material
carelessly; it was of softest smooth white serge. It seemed I touched
herself that lay beneath it. And at that touch some fire of
lightning ran through every vein.

"How stupid of me," I sai