stagger me. I'll take it in the
highest way. I sha'n't let it degrade me or send me for help to
degrading things--"

He flung his hands outward. "Yes, yes. I know what you're driving at. I
promise. Only, for God's sake, tell me. Is it about--?"

"It's about Mrs. Walker."

"Yes, so I supposed. But what is it? Is she ill? Oh, she isn't dead?"

The cry made her eyes smart, but she kept control of her voice.

"No, she's not dead. She's not even ill. She's perfectly well, so I
understand. But she's been--" The horror in his face, the way in which
he leaned forward as though he would spring at her, warned her that he
knew what was coming. She gave him time to get himself in hand by rising
and taking the two or three paces to the fireplace, where she stood with
a hand on the mantel-board, which was above her head, while she gazed
into the embers. "She's been--married."

She didn't turn round. She knew by all the subtle unnamed senses that he
was huddled in his big arm-chair in a state of collapse. For the minute
there was nothing to say or do. Since the iron had to enter into his
soul, it was better that it should be like this. It was better that it
should be like this--with her there to keep him such company as one
human being can keep for another at such an hour--better than if he were
to learn it in the solitude of his own rooms, or in the unsustaining
frigidity of a lawyer's office. She knew she didn't count for much,
except for the fact--a detail only--that she was _with_ him in every
nerve that helped her to sensation and every faculty she possessed.

So, after the minutes had passed--ten, perhaps, or fifteen--instinct
told her when to speak again. She did it without changing the position
in which she stood, or turning for a glance toward him.

"You won't forget your promise?"

He spoke with the vacant, suffering tone of a sick child, or of a person
so sunk into wretchedness as to find it hard to come up out of it.

"What?"

She repeated the words. "You won't forget your promise?"

His tone was still vacant--vacant and afflicted.

"What promise?"

"That you'd remember you're strong enough to bear it nobly."

"But I'm not."

She turned partly. He was bent over in a crushed, stupid attitude, his
hands hanging limply between his knees. "Oh, Mr. Walker!"

He raised his forlorn eyes. "Why did you want to tell me?"

"Because I wanted to say _that_. I was afraid, if any one else did it,
they'd leave it ou