ympathetic responsiveness--she thought that all these
labours had attained their object: Edward's complete serenity and
satisfaction. She imagined that love and duty had combined successfully
to deceive him on one solitary point. She was sure that he was deceived.
But she was wrong.

One evening they were at the theatre alone together. It was a musical
comedy, and they had a large stage-box. May sat a little behind. After
having been darkened for a scenic conjuring trick, the stage was very
suddenly thrown into brilliant light. Edward turned with equal
suddenness to share his appreciation of the effect with his wife, and
the light and his eye caught her unawares. She smiled instantly, but too
late; he had seen the expression of her features. For a second she felt
as if the whole fabric which she had been building for the last six
months had crumbled; but this disturbing idea passed as she recovered
herself.

'Let's go home, eh?' he said, at the end of the first act.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'It would be nice to be in early, wouldn't it?'

In the brougham they exchanged the amiable banalities of people who are
thoroughly intimate. When they reached the flat, she poured out his
whisky-and-potass, and sat on the arm of his particular arm-chair while
he sipped it; then she whispered that she was going to bed.

'Wait a bit,' he said; 'I want to talk to you seriously.'

'Dear thing!' she murmured, stroking his coat.

She had not the slightest notion of his purpose.

'You've tried your best, May,' he said bluntly, 'but you've failed. I've
suspected it for a long time.'

She flushed, and retired to a sofa, away from the orange electric lamp.

'What do you mean, Edward?' she asked.

'You know very well what I mean, my dear,' he replied. 'What I told
you--that night! You've tried to forget it. You've tried to look at me
as though you had forgotten it. But you can't do it. It's on your mind.
I've noticed it again and again. I noticed it at the theatre to-night.
So I said to myself, "I'll have it out with her." And I'm having it
out.'

'My dear Ted, I assure you----'

'No, you don't,' he stopped her. 'I wish you did. Now you must just
listen. I know exactly what sort of an idiot I was that night as well as
you do. But I couldn't help it. I was a fool to tell you. Still, I
thought I was dying. I simply had a babbling fit. People are like that.
You thought I was dying, too, didn't you?'

'Yes,' she said quietly, 'for a mi