orture, so far did
it fall short of his longing. It was torture, too, to keep his voice in
tune with the sober sweetness of her voice. And bitterly he thought: How
can she sit there, and not want me, as I want her? Then at a touch
of her fingers on his hair, he lost control, and kissed her lips. Her
surrender lasted only for a second.

"No, no--you must not!"

That mournful surprise sobered him at once.

He got up, stood away from her, begged to be forgiven.

And, when she was gone, he sat in the chair where she had sat. That
clasp of her, the kiss he had begged her to forget--to forget!--nothing
could take that from him. He had done wrong; had startled her, had
fallen short of chivalry! And yet--a smile of utter happiness would
cling about his lips. His fastidiousness, his imagination almost made
him think that this was all he wanted. If he could close his eyes, now,
and pass out, before he lost that moment of half-fulfilment!

And, the smile still on his lips, he lay back watching the flies
wheeling and chasing round the hanging-lamp. Sixteen of them there were,
wheeling and chasing--never still!

XII

When, walking from Lennan's studio, Olive reentered her dark little
hall, she approached its alcove and glanced first at the hat-stand. They
were all there--the silk hat, the bowler, the straw! So he was in! And
within each hat, in turn, she seemed to see her husband's head--with the
face turned away from her--so distinctly as to note the leathery look
of the skin of his cheek and neck. And she thought: "I pray that he will
die! It is wicked, but I pray that he will die!" Then, quietly, that
he might not hear, she mounted to her bedroom. The door into his
dressing-room was open, and she went to shut it. He was standing there
at the window.

"Ah! You're in! Been anywhere?"

"To the National Gallery."

It was the first direct lie she had ever told him, and she was surprised
to feel neither shame nor fear, but rather a sense of pleasure at
defeating him. He was the enemy, all the more the enemy because she was
still fighting against herself, and, so strangely, in his behalf.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Rather boring, wasn't it? I should have thought you'd have got young
Lennan to take you there."

"Why?"

By instinct she had seized on the boldest answer; and there was nothing
to be told from her face. If he were her superior in strength, he was
her inferior in quickness.

He lowered his eyes, and said: