ned and more ashamed than I had
ever felt before, but nevertheless when we sat down to dinner I tried to
compose myself. Partly for the sake of appearance before the servants,
and partly because I was taking myself to task for the repugnance I
felt towards my husband, I found something to say, though my voice
shook.

My husband ate ravenously and drank a good deal. Once or twice, when he
insisted on pouring out champagne for me, I clinked glasses with him.
Although every moment at table was increasing my fear and disgust, I
sometimes allowed myself to laugh.

Encouraged by this he renewed his endearments even before the waiters
had left the room, and when they had gone, with orders not to return
until he rang, and the door was closed behind them, he switched off the
lights, pushed a sofa in front of the fire, put me to sit on it, sat
down beside me and redoubled his tenderness.

"How's my demure little nun now?" he said. "Frightened, wasn't she?
They're all frightened at first, bless them!"

I could smell the liquor he had been drinking. I could see by the
firelight the prominent front tooth (partly hidden by his moustache)
which I had noticed when I saw him first, and the down of soft hair
which grew as low on his hands as his knuckles. Above all I thought I
could feel the atmosphere of other women about him--loose women, bad
women as it seemed to me--and my fear and disgust began to be mixed with
a kind of physical horror.

For a little while I tried to fight against this feeling, but when he
began to put his arms about me, calling me by endearing names,
complaining of my coldness, telling me not to be afraid of him,
reminding me that I belonged to him now, and must do as he wished, a
faintness came over me, I trembled from head to foot and made some
effort to rise.

"Let me go," I said.

"Nonsense," he said, laughing and holding me to my seat. "You bewitching
little woman! You're only teasing me. How they love to tease, these
charming little women!"

The pupils of his eyes were glistening. I closed my own eyes in order to
avoid his look. At the next moment I felt his hand stray down my body
and in a fury of indignation I broke out of his arms and leapt to my
feet.

When I recovered my self-possession I was again looking out of the
window, and my husband, who was behind me, was saying in a tone of anger
and annoyance:

"What's the matter with you? I can't understand. What have I done? Good
heavens, we a