y well, dear. I shan't be long."

The door shut upon him and she was alone. She listened for the closing
of the bedroom door upon him, knowing that then he would not come
back, knowing that he had seen and feared her tears. Then she dropped
her work, and ran over to the hearthplace, and, kneeling down by his
chair still warm from the impress of his body, laid her head upon it,
and cried terribly.

When she had married him she gave up her life and took his instead. If
he removed it, how should she live? She had become so much a part of
him that her suffering was devastating; it was physical. And now,
giving rein to herself, her sex side tugged at her pitilessly.
Jealousy tore through her like a hot wind. She had a dozen grey hairs,
a thin throat, a tired face, rough hands, two spoiled teeth in the
front upper row. That was not the worst; the gaiety of her wit had
been sapped. She could not have kept two men amused at a dinner table
as that raven woman in the Royal Red did had her life depended upon
it. Six years ago she could. She could have had them in her white,
pretty hands; but not now. Not now! Never any more!

Never had she wept as she wept now before Osborn's chair in the silent
dining-room, and when it seemed as if all founts of tears had run dry,
so that she was left merely sobbing without weeping, she collected
herself to pray.

She prayed:

"O God, teach men! Teach Osborn. Let them know. Let them think and
have pity. Make him admire me, God. Make him admire me for the
children I've suffered over, even if my face is spoiled. But, God,
don't let me be spoiled. Can't I recover? O God, why do You spoil
women? It's not fair. Help me! Keep him from the other women--the
women who are fresher and prettier than me. Help me to fight. Let me
win. Keep him loving me. Keep him thinking of me every day. For
Christ's sake."

And after that she prayed on in some formless way till the clock
struck half-past eleven, and a rapping came upon the other side of the
wall, and with it sounded Osborn's muffled voice.

He somehow guessed that she would cry a little; get things over
quietly by herself. It was the best way. But it was now half-past
eleven....

She rose, rapped back, and tidied her hair quickly before the round
mirror over the mantelpiece. Her face was ravaged. But in the bedroom
she would have to undress by a very subdued light lest she awakened
the baby, so he would not see, even if he wished to see. She knew