She went over to the writing-desk where he marked his school exercise books. Something within her said: You are angry and excited now, but you will soon cool down and then probably you will give in to him.... To this she replied passionately: I _won’t_ give in to him.... But, continued the part of her which always told the truth, you _will_ give in to him if you wait till your temper has cooled down.... Better write now accepting the situation, and post it before he comes back from night-school. Then the matter will be really settled. Then you can say to him when he comes in: “It’s no use arguing about it any more. I’ve written to accept the job. The thing’s done now and can’t be undone.” She wrote the letter as quickly as she could, for the feeling of supreme depression, the feeling that she was doing something regrettable and irretrievably silly, was becoming heavier upon her every second. She was just addressing the envelope after fastening it when she heard the key fumbling at the front door. For the moment a kind of panic fear seized her. He was coming back. He must have turned back before reaching the school. His footsteps down the lobby sounded brutal and unnecessarily noisy. She swung round in her chair and sat awaiting his entrance with the penholder stuck between her teeth. The half-addressed envelope lay on the desk invisible behind her back.... He flung down his hat and coat on the table. The moment was so tense that Catherine spoke merely to interrupt the horrible silence of it. “Was there no school to-night?” she asked, with an effort to appear perfectly casual. “I’m not going,” he snapped curtly, and took down the red-ink bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece. That meant he was going to spend the evening marking exercise books. She was thoroughly frightened. Her mother’s tempers and tirades had never frightened her, because she was used to them and knew them intimately, as a doctor knows the illness of a familiar patient. But her father was normally so quiet and placid and mild-mannered: she had never seen him in a temper, although when she was a little girl, boys who were in his class at school had told her that on rare occasions he got “ratty.” But she had never known him in such a condition. In this phase he was a complete stranger to her. And she was apprehensive, as she would have been if a stranger had entered the house when she was alone. He came to the desk to get his exercise books. She thought at first he was going to strike her. But he merely leaned over her and lifted the lid. As he did so he must have seen the half-addressed envelope lying on the top. But he did not say a word. His silence was unnerving. Always he used the desk for marking exercise books. But this time he arranged the pile of books and the pen and ink on the dining-table.