When she finally closed the window, her hair was in
little strands about her face. Her eyes were soft and her lips
quivering.
"You make me feel," she said, taking his hand for a moment and
looking at him almost piteously, "you make me feel everything except
one thing."
"Except one thing?" he repeated.
"Can't you understand?" she continued, stretching out her hand with
a quick, impulsive little movement. "I am here in Henry's house,
his wife, the mistress of his household. All the years we've been
married I have never thought of another man. I have never indulged
in even the idlest flirtation. And now suddenly my life seems
upside down. I feel as though, if Henry stood before me now, I
would strike him on the cheek. I feel sore all over, and ashamed,
but I don't know whether I have ceased to love him. I can't tell.
Nothing seems to help me. I close my eyes and I try to think of
that new world and that new life, and I know that there is nothing
repulsive in it. I feel all the joy and the strength of being with
you. And then there is Henry in the background. He seems to have
had so much of my love."
He saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and he smiled at her
encouragingly.
"Remember that at this moment I am asking you for nothing," he said.
"Just think these things out. It isn't really a matter for sorrow,"
he continued.
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