t an insincere and mechanical
patting which, though at any other time his touch refreshed her veins,
she found irritating. If his mother died his grief would of course be as
inordinate. He would turn on her a face hostile with preoccupation and
would go out to wander on some stupendous mountain system of vast and
complicated sorrows. Not even death would stop this woman's habit of
excessive living.

Ellen shivered, and rose and looked at the bookcases. The violent order
characteristic of the household had polished the glass doors so brightly
that between her and the books there floated those intrusive clouds, the
aggressive marshes. She went and stood by the fire.

"You look tired," said Marion timidly.

"Yes, I'm tired. Do you know, I'm feeling quite fanciful.... It's just
tiredness."

"You'd better go and lie down."

"Oh no, I would just lie and think. I feel awful restless."

"Then let's go for a walk." She shot a furtive, comprehending look at
the girl. "This really isn't such a bad place," she told her wistfully.

They separated to dress, smiling at each other kindly and uneasily.
Ellen went into her room, and stood about, thinking how romantic it all
was, but wondering what was the termination of a romance where curtains
do not fall at the act's end, until her eyes fell upon her reflection in
the mirror. She was standing with her head bowed and her cheek resting
on her clasped hands, and she wished somebody would snapshot her like
that, for though of course it would be affected to take such a pose in
front of a camera, she would like Richard to have a photograph of her
looking like that. Suddenly she remembered how Richard delighted in her,
and what pretty things he found to say about her without putting himself
out, and how he was always sorry to leave her and sometimes came back
for another kiss, and she felt enormously proud of being the dispenser
of such satisfactions, and began to put on her hat and coat with
peacocking gestures and recklessly light-minded glances in the mirror.
The reflection of a crumpled face-towel thrown into a wisp over the rail
of the washstand reminded her in some way of the white-faced wee thing
Mr. Philip had been during the last few days when she had gone back to
the office, and this added to her exhilaration, though she did not see
why. She was suddenly relieved from her fear of being dispossessed of
her own life.

CHAPTER III

They went out of the house by the F