he thought suddenly of to-morrow, and why
the thought called out a deep feeling of unutterable, discouraged
weariness--a fear of facing the succession of days. To-morrow! It was as
far as yesterday. Ages elapsed between sunrises--sometimes. He scanned
her features like one looks at a forgotten country. They were not
distorted--he recognized landmarks, so to speak; but it was only a
resemblance that he could see, not the woman of yesterday--or was
it, perhaps, more than the woman of yesterday? Who could tell? Was
it something new? A new expression--or a new shade of expression?
or something deep--an old truth unveiled, a fundamental and hidden
truth--some unnecessary, accursed certitude? He became aware that he was
trembling very much, that he had an empty tumbler in his hand--that time
was passing. Still looking at her with lingering mistrust he reached
towards the table to put the glass down and was startled to feel it
apparently go through the wood. He had missed the edge. The surprise,
the slight jingling noise of the accident annoyed him beyond expression.
He turned to her irritated.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, grimly.

She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up.

"You're not going to be absurd again," he said. "'Pon my soul, I did not
know you could forget yourself to that extent." He didn't try to conceal
his physical disgust, because he believed it to be a purely moral
reprobation of every unreserve, of anything in the nature of a scene.
"I assure you--it was revolting," he went on. He stared for a moment at
her. "Positively degrading," he added with insistence.

She stood up quickly as if moved by a spring and tottered. He started
forward instinctively. She caught hold of the back of the chair
and steadied herself. This arrested him, and they faced each other
wide-eyed, uncertain, and yet coming back slowly to the reality of
things with relief and wonder, as though just awakened after tossing
through a long night of fevered dreams.

"Pray, don't begin again," he said, hurriedly, seeing her open her lips.
"I deserve some little consideration--and such unaccountable behaviour
is painful to me. I expect better things. . . . I have the right. . . ."

She pressed both her hands to her temples.

"Oh, nonsense!" he said, sharply. "You are perfectly capable of coming
down to dinner. No one should even suspect; not even the servants. No
one! No one! . . . I am sure you can."

S