w,
he went quickly to the other door. That too was locked. Then he noticed
that the camp bed which he occasionally used was prepared, and his
sleeping-suit laid out upon it. He put his hand up to his forehead, and
brought it away wet. It dawned on him that he was barred out.

He went back to the door, and rattling the handle stealthily, called:
"Unlock the door, do you hear? Unlock the door!"

There was a faint rustling, but no answer.

"Do you hear? Let me in at once--I insist on being let in!"

He could catch the sound of her breathing close to the door, like the
breathing of a creature threatened by danger.

There was something terrifying in this inexorable silence, in the
impossibility of getting at her. He went back to the other door, and
putting his whole weight against it, tried to burst it open. The door
was a new one--he had had them renewed himself, in readiness for their
coming in after the honeymoon. In a rage he lifted his foot to kick
in the panel; the thought of the servants restrained him, and he felt
suddenly that he was beaten.

Flinging himself down in the dressing-room, he took up a book.

But instead of the print he seemed to see his wife--with her yellow hair
flowing over her bare shoulders, and her great dark eyes--standing like
an animal at bay. And the whole meaning of her act of revolt came to
him. She meant it to be for good.

He could not sit still, and went to the door again. He could still hear
her, and he called: "Irene! Irene!"

He did not mean to make his voice pathetic.

In ominous answer, the faint sounds ceased. He stood with clenched
hands, thinking.

Presently he stole round on tiptoe, and running suddenly at the other
door, made a supreme effort to break it open. It creaked, but did not
yield. He sat down on the stairs and buried his face in his hands.

For a long time he sat there in the dark, the moon through the skylight
above laying a pale smear which lengthened slowly towards him down the
stairway. He tried to be philosophical.

Since she had locked her doors she had no further claim as a wife, and
he would console himself with other women.

It was but a spectral journey he made among such delights--he had no
appetite for these exploits. He had never had much, and he had lost the
habit. He felt that he could never recover it. His hunger could only
be appeased by his wife, inexorable and frightened, behind these shut
doors. No other woman could help him.

Thi