he way we live, and about
being a drag on me and making me hate you, you'll laugh at them? You'll
be able to laugh, because you'll know why they're there."

It wasn't until the next day that she recalled that remark of his and
analyzed it. It meant, of course, that she was beaten; that her first
fight for the big thing had been in vain. There would be no use, for the
present, in renewing the struggle. He'd taken the one ground that was
impregnable. So long as he could go on honestly interpreting every plea
of hers for a share in the hard part of his life as well as in the soft
part of it, for a way of life that would make them something more than
lovers--as wholly subjective to herself, the inevitable accompaniment of
her physical condition--the pleas and the struggles would indeed be
wasted. She'd have to wait.

CHAPTER X

THE DOOR THAT WAS TO OPEN

She would have to wait. Accepted, root and branch, as Rose was forced by
her husband's attitude to accept it, a conclusion of that sort can be a
wonderful anodyne. And so it proved in her ease. Indeed, within a day
after her talk with Rodney, though it had ended in total defeat, she
felt like a person awakened out of a nightmare. There had taken place,
somehow, an enormous letting-off of strain--a heavenly relaxation of
spiritual muscles. It was so good just to have him know; to have others
know, as all her world did within the next week!

Ultimately nothing was changed, of course. The great thing that she had
promised Portia she wouldn't fail in getting--the real thing that should
solve the problem, equalize the disparity between her husband and
herself and give them a life together in satisfying completeness beyond
the joys of a pair of lovers;--that was still to be fought for.

She'd have to make that fight alone. Rodney wouldn't help her. He
wouldn't know how to help her. Indeed, interpreting from the way he
winced under her questions and suggestions, as if they wounded some
essentially masculine, primitive element of pride in him, it seemed
rather more likely that he'd resist her efforts--fight blindly against
her. She must be more careful about that when she took up the fight
again; must avoid hurting him if she could.

She hadn't an idea on what lines the fight was to be made. Perhaps
before the time for its beginning, a way would appear. The point was
that for the present, she'd have to wait--coolly and thoughtfully, not
fritter her strength away on