Mrs. Cloud’s face brightened as the sky does when a cloud has slid from the moon. “I know. He’s wanted you. He’s been so busy. The new cabinet came that same afternoon.” “Oh!” said Laura slowly. “Oh—the cabinet came the same afternoon.” And then—“I think I’ll go up to him.” She went out of the room quietly, with none of her usual joyous flurry. Mrs. Cloud did not watch her go. Indeed they had not once met each other’s eyes as they talked together. Justin’s room was full of cotton-wool, and disembowelled cupboards, and drawers piled criss-cross on each other, and a Justin so happily absorbed that Laura knew she should have laughed and blessed him and settled down to help. But she could not. Even his welcome did not warm her as she stood in the doorway and watched him. “Here you are! Good! I nearly came round for you yesterday. Now look here—would you put——” He went into details. She spoke through them. “Justin—you did write that letter, didn’t you?” “But then Bellew has cases with glass tops. What letter?” “To Mr. Wilbraham. About Coral.” “Oh! No—not yet. I don’t believe I have.” “Justin! And you promised Coral.” “Well—I did mean to. I’m going to. I’ll write tonight.” “You needn’t,” said Laura without expression. “The part’s filled.” “Oh, well! there’ll be another soon,” said Justin comfortably. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry. But what with this arriving—isn’t it a beauty? You haven’t half looked at it, Laura!—and getting things straight again—I simply hadn’t time.” “You hadn’t time!” The contempt in her voice startled them both—stung like a whip; but she hurt herself more than she hurt him. She had not realized that it was possible to feel like that to Justin. She was frightened at herself. But Justin was annoyed. He did not feel guilty, he felt injured. He was quite sure he hadn’t had time. “Oh, shut up, Laura!” he adjured her, and then, with gathering indignation—“Look here, you know—shut up!” and so retired into the silence that awaits apologies. But something was wrong with Laura that day. She too was silent, with a difference in the quality of her silence that disturbed him. Where he was dignified, she was ominous. Glancing across at her he found her studying him and his occupation with an impersonal, appraising air that altered her whole face: and she had grown white, so white that he noticed it—that is to say, he thought to himself that she was looking plain that morning. But when she did speak she was outrageous— “Justin! do you know—I think you’re almost selfish.” That was the way, you see, that she talked to him when he was up to his eyes in work! “Oh?” said Justin, bearing with her. And then, in sudden heat—“Because I forgot to write a letter!” “Oh—you didn’t forget,” she said in her lowest voice. “Oh?” said Justin again. “You didn’t forget. You just put it off and put it off, because you didn’t like the bother, because you didn’t like Coral.”