n, a mere blurred shadow; he made his way down to it along the table
edge, and stood before himself as close as he could get. His throat and
the roof of his mouth felt dry with nervousness; he put out his finger
and touched his face in the glass. 'You're an ass!' he thought. 'Pull
yourself together, and get it over. She will see; of course she will!'
He swallowed, smoothed his moustache, and walked out. Going up the
stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he was in for it now, and marched
straight into her room. Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was
brushing her dark hair before the glass. Mr. Bosengate went up to her
and stood there silent, looking down. The words he had thought of were
like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from
between his lips. His wife went on brushing her hair under the light
which shone on her polished elbows. She looked up at him from beneath
one lifted eyebrow.

"Well, dear--tired?"

With a sort of vehemence the single word "No" passed out. A faint, a
quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders ever so
gently. That gesture--he had seen it before! And in desperate desire to
make her understand, he put his hand on her lifted arm.

"Kathleen, stop--listen to me!" His fingers tightened in his agitation
and eagerness to make his great discovery known. But before he could get
out a word he became conscious of that cool round arm, conscious of her
eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her half-smiling lips, of her
neck under the wrapper. And he stammered:

"I want--I must--Kathleen, I---"

She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug. "Yes--I know; all
right!"

A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. Bosengate;
he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; and he was
silent, more silent than the grave. Nothing--nothing came from him but
two long sighs. Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his
cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him. She made a little movement
towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that....

In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
cigarette; there was no light. Moths went past, the moon was creeping
up. He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night air.
Curious thing-life! Curious world! Curious forces in it--making one do
the opposite of what one wished; always--always making one do the
opposite, it