herself, almost
wistfully. (She was not now thinking of her husband.) "I ought to
hate him, I suppose, and to pity her. But I pity him, I think, and I
hate--her."

The fire still crackled cheerfully, and she began to feel its heat
oppressive; she let her hands fall with a gesture half of contempt,
half of despair, and then rose abruptly, and walked into the
darkness of the larger room, from the unshuttered windows of which
she could see the dark bulk of her husband's studio looming against
the gray, smoke-coloured sky.

While she stood, leaning with something of a forward tilt of her
gracile figure, upon the ledge of the low, square window, the side
door of the studio opened, letting a flood of light out upon the
lawn, and with absent eyes she saw that her husband's visitor was
taking his leave. Presently the door closed; the broad rays which
had shone coldly from the skylight of the building died out, so
abruptly that the change seemed almost audible; and simultaneously
she heard her husband's careless step in the long glazed passage,
half conservatory, half corridor, which led from her domain to his.
He came in, softly humming an air from a comic opera, and then
paused, peering into the darkness for an instant before he
distinguished his wife's shape in dusky relief against the pale
square of window.

"Don't light the room!" she said quickly, as she saw him stretch his
hand towards the little button which controlled the electric light;
"we can talk in the dark."

He stopped with his hand on the porcelain knob, breaking off his
ditty in the middle of a bar.

"By all means, if you like," he said, "though I should prefer to see
you, you know."

Then he dropped luxuriously into an easy-chair by the side of the
fire, which continued to exhibit a comfortable, glowing redness.

But very soon Lightmark became aware of a certain weight of
apprehension, which took from him the power to enjoy these material
comforts; unattractive possibilities seemed to hover in the silent
darkness, and his more subtile senses were roused, and brought to a
state of quivering tension, which was almost insupportable. His wife
moved, and he felt that she had directed her eyes towards him,
though he could not see her; and he winced instinctively, seeking to
be first to break the silence, but unable to find a timely word to
say. The blow fell, and even while she spoke he felt a quick
admiration for the instinct which had enabled him to an