ng, everything became shadowy and unreal
again.

At the station she stood beside the porter while he paid the driver, and
then entering the doorway, they walked hurriedly, so hurriedly that she
felt as if she were losing her breath, in the direction of the gate and
the waiting train. And with each step, as they passed down the long
platform, which seemed to stretch into eternity, she was thinking: "In a
minute it will be over. If I don't say something now, it will be too
late. If I don't stop him now, it will be over forever--everything will
be over forever."

Beside the night coach, in the presence of the conductor and the porter,
who stood blandly waiting to help her into the train, she stopped
suddenly, as though she could not go any farther, as though the strength
which had supported her until now had given way and she were going to
fall. Through her mind there flashed the thought that even now she might
hold him if she were to make a scene, that if she were to go into
hysterics he would not leave her, that if she were to throw away her
pride and her self-respect and her dignity, she might recover by
violence the outer shell at least of her happiness. How could he break
away from her if she were only to weep and to cling to him? Then, while
the idea was still in her mind, she knew that to a nature such as hers
violence was impossible. It took passion to war with passion, and in
this she was lacking. Though she were wounded to the death, she could
not revolt, could not shriek out in her agony, could not break through
that gentle yet invincible reticence which she had won from the past.

Down the long platform a child came running with cries of pleasure,
followed by a man with a red beard, who carried a suitcase. As they
approached the train, Virginia entered the coach, and walked rapidly
down the aisle to where the porter was waiting beside her seat.

For the first time since they had reached the station Oliver spoke. "I
am sorry I couldn't get the drawing-room for you," he said. "I am afraid
you will be crowded"; and this anxiety about her comfort, when he was
ruining her life, did not strike either of them, at the moment, as
ridiculous.

"It does not matter," she answered; and he put out his hand.

"Good-bye, Virginia," he said, with a catch in his voice.

"Good-bye," she responded quietly, and would have given her soul for the
power to shriek aloud, to overcome this indomitable instinct which was
stronger