e dazzled and vulnerable
look of a man who is truly in love. Well, if that were so, why could it
not be pure and easy joy for them both, as it was for other sons and
mothers when there were happy marriage afoot? Why must their life, even
in such parts of it as escaped the shadow of Peacey or Roger, be so
queer in climate? This time it was Richard's fault. She had been
willing to be lightly, facilely happy over it like other people. Her
spirit snarled at him, and she cried out impatiently, "Go and eat your
eggs before they're cold." As Richard took his seat, moving slowly and
trancedly, and began to eat his food with half indifference because of
his dreams, she took the chair at the other end of the table, and,
cupping her chin in her hands, stared at him petulantly.

"Why didn't you tell me in your letters how beautiful she was?" she
demanded.

He answered mildly, "Didn't I?"

"No, you didn't," she told him curtly. "You said you thought her pretty.
Thought her pretty, indeed, with that hair and that wonderful Scotch
little face!..."

She caught her breath in irritation at the expression on his face, the
uneasy movement from side to side of his eyes which warred with the
smile on his lips. Why, when he thought of his love, need he have an air
as if he listened to two voices and was distressed by the effort to
follow their diverse musics? But she could not quarrel with him for
long, for he was wearing the drenched and glittering look which was
given him by triumph or hard physical exercise and which always overcame
her heart like the advance of an army. His flesh and hair seemed to
reflect the light as if they were wet, but neither with sweat nor with
water. Rather was it as if he were newly risen from a brave dive into
some pool of vitality whose whereabouts were the secret that made his
mouth vigilant. Even he had the dazed, victorious look of a risen diver.
Utterly melted, she cried out, "I am so glad you have come home."

He started, and came smiling out of his dream. "I am so glad to be
here," he said. They laughed across the table; the strong light showed
them the dear lines they knew on one another's faces. "That's why," he
cried brilliantly, "I've come at this ungodly hour. I had to be here. I
got into London at nine o'clock and I went and had some dinner at the
Station Hotel. But I felt wretched. Mother, I'm getting," he announced
with a naive triumph, "awfully domestic. I got the hump the minute Ellen
left