ndrel? Could he help the girl's
kissing him? Help her being fond of him? Help having a man's nature?
Unreasonable, unjust, ungenerous! And giving her a furious look, he went
out.

He went down to his study, flung himself on the sofa and turned his face
to the wall. Devilish! But he had not been there five minutes before
his anger seemed childish and evaporated into the chill of deadly and
insistent fear. He was perceiving himself up against much more than a
mere incident, up against her nature--its pride and scepticism--yes--and
the very depth and singleness of her love. While she wanted nothing but
him, he wanted and took so much else. He perceived this but dimly, as
part of that feeling that he could not break through, of the irritable
longing to put his head down and butt his way out, no matter what the
obstacles. What was coming? How long was this state of things to last?
He got up and began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind him, his
head thrown back; and every now and then he shook that head, trying to
free it from this feeling of being held in chancery. And then Diana! He
had said he would not see her again. But was that possible? After that
kiss--after that last look back at him! How? What could he say--do? How
break so suddenly? Then, at memory of Gyp's face, he shivered. Ah, how
wretched it all was! There must be some way out--some way! Surely some
way out! For when first, in the wood of life, fatality halts, turns her
dim dark form among the trees, shows her pale cheek and those black eyes
of hers, shows with awful swiftness her strange reality--men would be
fools indeed who admitted that they saw her!

IX

Gyp stayed in her room doing little things--as a woman will when she is
particularly wretched--sewing pale ribbons into her garments, polishing
her rings. And the devil that had entered into her when she woke that
morning, having had his fling, slunk away, leaving the old bewildered
misery. She had stabbed her lover with words and looks, felt pleasure in
stabbing, and now was bitterly sad. What use--what satisfaction? How by
vengeful prickings cure the deep wound, disperse the canker in her life?
How heal herself by hurting him whom she loved so? If he came up again
now and made but a sign, she would throw herself into his arms. But
hours passed, and he did not come, and she did not go down--too truly
miserable. It grew dark, but she did not draw the curtains; the sight
of the windy moonlit