"His line, isn't it?"

With a shrug she turned away and shut the door. She sat down on the edge
of her bed, very still. In that little passage of wits she had won, she
could win in many such; but the full hideousness of things had come to
her. Lies! lies! That was to be her life! That; or to say farewell to
all she now cared for, to cause despair not only in herself, but in
her lover, and--for what? In order that her body might remain at the
disposal of that man in the next room--her spirit having flown from him
for ever. Such were the alternatives, unless those words: "Then come to
me," were to be more than words. Were they? Could they be? They would
mean such happiness if--if his love for her were more than a summer
love? And hers for him? Was it--were they--more than summer loves? How
know? And, without knowing, how give such pain to everyone? How break
a vow she had thought herself quite above breaking? How make such a
desperate departure from all the traditions and beliefs in which she had
been brought up! But in the very nature of passion is that which resents
the intrusion of hard and fast decisions.... And suddenly she thought:
If our love cannot stay what it is, and if I cannot yet go to him for
always, is there not still another way?

She got up and began to dress for dinner. Standing before her glass
she was surprised to see that her face showed no signs of the fears and
doubts that were now her comrades. Was it because, whatever happened,
she loved and was beloved! She wondered how she had looked when he
kissed her so passionately; had she shown her joy before she checked
him?

In her garden by the river were certain flowers that, for all her care,
would grow rank and of the wrong colour--wanting a different soil. Was
she, then, like those flowers of hers? Ah! Let her but have her true
soil, and she would grow straight and true enough!

Then in the doorway she saw her husband. She had never, till to-day,
quite hated him; but now she did, with a real blind horrible feeling.
What did he want of her standing there with those eyes fixed on
her--those forceful eyes, touched with blood, that seemed at once to
threaten, covet, and beseech! She drew her wrapper close round her
shoulders. At that he came up and said:

"Look at me, Olive!"

Against instinct and will she obeyed, and he went on:

"Be careful! I say, be careful!"

Then he took her by the shoulders, and raised her up to him. And, quite
unnerve