it is over now!'

Hugh Flaxman sat looking out into the dingy bit of London garden.
Penetrated with pity as he was, he felt the presence of Elsmere's pale,
silent, unsympathetic wife an oppression. How could she, receive such a
story in such a way?

The door opened and Robert came in hurriedly.

'Good-night, Catherine--he has told you?'

He stood by her, his hand on her shoulder, wistfully looking at her, the
face full of signs of what he had gone through.

'Yes, it was terrible!' she said, with an effort.

His face fell. He kissed her on the forehead and went away.

When he was gone, Flaxman suddenly got up and leant against the open
French window, looking keenly down on his companion. A new idea had
stirred in him.

And presently, after more talk of the incident of the afternoon, and
when he had recovered his usual manner, he slipped gradually into
the subject of his own experiences in North R---- during the last six
months. He assumed all through that she knew as much as there was to
be known of Elsmere's work, and that she was as much interested as the
normal wife is in her husband's doings. His tact, his delicacy, never
failed him for a moment. But he spoke of his own impressions, of matters
within his personal knowledge. And since the Easter sermon he had been
much on Elsmere's track; he had been filled with curiosity about him.

Catherine sat a little way from him, her blue dress lying in long folds
about her, her head bent, her long fingers crossed on her lap. Sometimes
she gave him a startled look, sometimes she shaded her eyes, while her
other hand played silently with her watch-chain. Flaxman, watching
her closely, however little he might seem to do so, was struck by her
austere and delicate beauty as he had never been before.

She hardly spoke all through, but he felt that she listened without
resistance, nay, at last that she listened with a kind of hunger. He
went from story to story, from scene to scene, without any excitement,
in his most ordinary manner, making his reserves now and then,
expressing his own opinion when it occurred to him, and not always
favorably. But gradually the whole picture emerged, began to live before
them. At last he hurriedly looked at his watch.

'What a time I have kept you! It has been a relief to talk to you.'

'You have not had dinner!' she said, looking up at him with a sudden
nervous bewilderment which touched him and subtly changed his impression
of her.