u are sure to see something strange or horrible."

"But an hallucination of sound! I must go away from here! Perhaps in
some other place--"

But she interrupted him inflexibly.

"Going away would be absolutely useless. A man can't travel away from
himself."

"But I can't lead a normal life. It's impossible. Those horrible nights
on the 'Leyla'----"

He stopped. The effort he had made during the trip to Brusa seemed
to have exhausted the last remnants of any moral force he had still
possessed when he started on that journey.

"I had made up my mind to begin again, to lay hold on some sort of real
life," he continued, after a pause. "I was determined to face things. I
called at Therapia. I accepted Lady Ingleton's invitation. I've done
all I can to make a new start. But it's no use. I can't keep it up. I
haven't the force for it. It was hell--being with happy people."

"You mean the Ingletons. Yes, they are very happy."

"And Vane, who's just engaged to be married. I saw her photograph in
his cabin. They were all--all very kind. Lady Ingleton did everything to
make me feel at ease. He's a delightful fellow--the Ambassador, I mean.
But I simply can't stand mingling my life with lives that are happy. So
I had better go away and be alone again."

"And lives that are unhappy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can't you mingle your life with them, or with one of them?"

He was silent, looking towards her. She was wearing a very dark blue
tea-gown of some thin material in which her thin body seemed lost.
He saw the dark folds of it flowing over the divan on which she was
leaning, and trailing to the rug at her feet. Her face was a faint
whiteness under her colorless hair. Her eyes were two darknesses in it.
He could not see them distinctly, but he knew they were looking intent
and distressed.

"Haven't you told me I look punished?" said the husky voice.

"Are you unhappy?" he asked.

"Do you think I have much reason to be happy?"

"You have your boy."

"For a few weeks in the year. I have lost my husband in a horrible way,
worse than if he had died. I live entirely alone. I can't marry again.
And yet I'm not at all old, and not at all finished. But perhaps you
have never really thought about my situation seriously. After all, why
should you? Why should any one? I won my case, and so of course it's all
right."

"Are _you_ unhappy, then?"

"What do you suppose about me?"

"I know you've gone through a great deal.