"It would not have done at all," he thought. He felt ashamed of himself that he had ever supposed for a moment it would have done. He really felt very thankful that he had decided to come back and break the news to her in person. It occurred to him that it was the least he could do under the circumstances. With a certain self-satisfaction on his face, he pushed his way into his wife's room. Jean was not on the bed; she was lying on the lounge, across whose blue pillow he saw that the white silk Spanish shawl he gave her was tossed in a disorderly way. The lace frill of her nightdress was torn open at the throat. Her abundant yellow hair was loose, and partly concealed her face. She was imperfectly covered with a blanket that she had dragged with her from her bed in some desperate endeavor, whose pitiful story might never be known, to summon help. "I did n't hear me bell!" cried Molly. "An' there she do be lyin' when I come in." "Jean!" called Avery loudly; "_Jean!_" PART II At the claim of his voice she responded; smiling, she stirred. He could not help remembering how she had once said, "If I were dead, I should answer you if you called me, Marshall." And for the moment, she had looked--but it was not death. She opened her large eyes and regarded him--strangely, he thought, for the instant; then with the lambent look which belonged to Jean, and quite steadily. He knelt by her, and drew the blanket up, and buttoned the nightdress at her throat with clumsy fingers. "I have come back to say"--he began. But he could not say it. "Have you had an ill turn?" he temporized. "I don't know," said Jean. "How did you happen to be on the lounge?" "I don't know," repeated Jean. "Are you suffering, dear?" "I fell asleep," said Jean, after some thought. "Don't you remember when you got out of bed?" "I have had a wonderful sleep," said Jean. "I never had anything of the kind before. It was like heaven." "Are you suffering now?" "No--I think not--no. I feel pretty weak. But I am not suffering." "Shall I call the doctor?" "I sha'n't need the doctor. I don't want ... I don't need anybody but you." She turned and put her hand to his cheek. Her long hair fell away from her face and revealed its expression; he turned his own away at sight of it. "How early you are dressed!" she said, in a different tone. "I was going out," he stammered. "I was--going away." "Oh! _Going_! Where are you going?" "I won't, if you don't want me to." "You did n't say where you were going." "Well, you see--Romer asked me to take a little trip with him. He thought I looked fagged out. He starts in--Jove! He starts in twenty minutes." "And you have n't had any breakfast!" said Jean; her divine self-oblivion pushed to the front,--a trained soldier. But her chin trembled in a touching fashion that she had when she was too much grieved to say so, or too weak to admit that she was grieved.