But he had caught her, was holding her to him now, with both his arms round her, pressing her against his shirt, hurting her--at last covering her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks with kisses. He had not heard those words now, in the triumph of having her back again, his as she had been on the first day of their marriage, did not feel her body unresponsive, her hands cold, nor did he see the appeal, wild and desperate, in her eyes.... At last he left her, closing, softly her door between them. CHAPTER XIV PETER BUYS A PRESENT I Peter did not hesitate now. He should win Clare back with his strong right hand and he would rule The Roundabout with a rod of iron. Ruling The Roundabout meant ruling Mrs. Rossiter and he was surprised at the ease with which he won his victory over that lady. Had he considered it more deeply that easy victory might have seemed to him ominous. At luncheon on the day after his talk with Clare they three sat together--Mrs. Rossiter silent, Clare silent, Peter silent. Suddenly Peter said: “Oh by the way, Clare, I telephoned for seats this morning for the new thing at the Criterion. I got two stalls.” They had not been to the theatre together since Stephen's death. Clare lifted a white face--“I don't think I--” “Oh yes,” said Peter, smiling across at her--“you'll enjoy it.” Mrs. Rossiter stroking her large bosom with a flat white hand said, “I don't think Clare--” “Oh yes,” said Peter again, “it will do her good.” Mrs. Rossiter smiled. “Get another stall, Peter, and I will come too.” “I'm afraid,” said Peter very politely, “that it's too late. The piece is a thumping success. I was very lucky to get any seats at all.” And then Mrs. Rossiter subsided, absolutely subsided ... very strange. That was not a very happy evening. Clare scarcely spoke, she answered him with “Yes” and “No,” she sat in the stalls looking like a little unhappy ghost. She did not in any way repulse him--she let him take her hand coming home in the cab. She shivered and he asked whether she were cold and she said, Yes, she thought that she was. That night he came in, took her for a moment in his hands, kissed her very gently on the lips, and said-- “Clare, you're not angry with me for last night?” “No” she answered him. Then she added slowly, as though she were repeating a part that she'd learnt, “Thank you for taking me to the play, Peter. I was rather tired. But thank you for taking me.” He went to bed thanking God for this change in her. “I'll make her love me just as she used to, those days on our honeymoon. God bless her.” Yes, Mrs. Rossiter was strangely altered. It all shows what one can do with a woman when one tries. Her hostile placidity had given place to something almost pathetic. One would have thought, had one not known that lady's invariable assurance of movement, that she was perplexed, almost distressed.