lplessly on the side of the bed in shirt and
trousers she tapped lightly at his door and entered. She told him all,
that she had made a clean breast of it to her mother and that her mother
would speak with him that morning. She cried and threw her arms round
his neck, saying:

"O Bob! Bob! What am I to do? What am I to do at all?"

She would put an end to herself, she said.

He comforted her feebly, telling her not to cry, that it would be all
right, never fear. He felt against his shirt the agitation of her bosom.

It was not altogether his fault that it had happened. He remembered
well, with the curious patient memory of the celibate, the first casual
caresses her dress, her breath, her fingers had given him. Then late one
night as he was undressing for she had tapped at his door, timidly. She
wanted to relight her candle at his for hers had been blown out by a
gust. It was her bath night. She wore a loose open combing-jacket of
printed flannel. Her white instep shone in the opening of her furry
slippers and the blood glowed warmly behind her perfumed skin. From her
hands and wrists too as she lit and steadied her candle a faint perfume
arose.

On nights when he came in very late it was she who warmed up his dinner.
He scarcely knew what he was eating feeling her beside him alone, at
night, in the sleeping house. And her thoughtfulness! If the night was
anyway cold or wet or windy there was sure to be a little tumbler of
punch ready for him. Perhaps they could be happy together....

They used to go upstairs together on tiptoe, each with a candle, and on
the third landing exchange reluctant goodnights. They used to kiss. He
remembered well her eyes, the touch of her hand and his delirium....

But delirium passes. He echoed her phrase, applying it to himself: "What
am I to do?" The instinct of the celibate warned him to hold back. But
the sin was there; even his sense of honour told him that reparation
must be made for such a sin.

While he was sitting with her on the side of the bed Mary came to the
door and said that the missus wanted to see him in the parlour. He stood
up to put on his coat and waistcoat, more helpless than ever. When he
was dressed he went over to her to comfort her. It would be all right,
never fear. He left her crying on the bed and moaning softly: "O my
God!"

Going down the stairs his glasses became so dimmed with moisture that
he had to take them off and polish them. He longed to asce