reflections were concerned with the crude elements of life; the
exceptional moments she spent in a world of vague joys and fears,
wherein thought, properly speaking, had no share. Before she could
outlive the shock of passion which seemed at once to destroy and to
re-create her, she was confronted with the second supreme crisis of
woman's existence,--its natural effects complicated with the trials of
her peculiar position. Tarrant's reception of her disclosure came as a
new disturbance--she felt bewildered and helpless.

He, preoccupied with the anxiety he affected to dismiss, had no
inclination to debate ethical problems. For a while he talked jestingly,
and at length fell into a mood of silence. Nancy did not stay much
longer; they parted without mention of the subject uppermost in their
thoughts.

They had no stated times of meeting. Tarrant sent an invitation whenever
it pleased him. When the next arrived, in about a week, Nancy made reply
that she did not feel well enough to leave home. It was the briefest
letter Tarrant had yet received from her, and the least affectionate. He
kept silence for a few days, and wrote again. This time Nancy responded
as usual, and came.

To the involuntary question in his eyes, hers answered unmistakably. For
the first few minutes they said very little to each other. Tarrant was
struggling with repulsions and solicitudes of which he felt more than
half ashamed; Nancy, reticent for many reasons, not the least of them a
resentful pride, which for the moment overcame her fondness, endeavoured
to speak of trivial things. They kept apart, and at length the
embarrassment of the situation held them both mute.

With a nervous movement, the young man pushed forward the chair on which
Nancy usually sat.

'I see that you don't look well.'

Nancy turned to the window. She had unbuttoned her jacket, and taken off
her gloves, but went no further in the process of preparing herself for
the ordinary stay of some hours.

'Did something in my letter displease you?' inquired her husband.

'You mean--because I didn't come? No; I really didn't feel well enough.'

Tarrant hesitated, but the softer feeling prevailed with him. He helped
to remove her jacket, seated her by the fire, and led her to talk.

'So there's no doubt of it?'

Her silence made answer.

'Then of course there's just as little doubt as to what we must do.'

His voice had not a convincing sincerity; he waited for the reply.