And then she was suddenly frightened. She had said too much. He would want to know why she didn’t want to stay. But he lay there silently. She was afraid that he would go to sleep. She knew that when the morning came things would seem different. She knew that she would persuade herself that there was no immediate hurry. She would leave things to settle themselves; and then. Oh! well! there would be no question as to how things would go! She saw, with absolute clearness that this was the moment that was granted her. If she could only persuade him to take her now, then she would have that at any rate afterwards to hold herself back. She would not want to go back on her word again. Her only feeling now was that Fred was so safe. The thought of the evening, the garden, Maradick, filled her now with unreasoning terror; she was in a panic lest this minute, this opportunity, should leave her. She turned towards him and shook his arm. “Fred, just keep awake for a minute; really it’s important. Really, I want to go away with you, on Thursday, not to stay on. I don’t like the place. I shan’t a bit mind being in London, it will be rather fun; there are lots of people I want to see. Besides, it’s only a day or two after all.” But he laughed sleepily. “What’s all the fuss, old girl? I’m simply damned tired; I am, really. We’ll talk about it to-morrow. But anyhow, you’d better stay; it’s all arranged, and Lady Gale will think it rather funny.” His voice trailed off. For a moment there was silence and she heard his breathing. He was asleep. She listened furiously. Oh, well, if he didn’t care more than that! If he couldn’t keep awake longer than that! She dug her nails into her hand. There it was; he could go to sleep when she was in torture. He didn’t care; the other man! Her mind flew back to the evening again. Ah! he would not have gone off to sleep! He would have listened—listened. But she lay for hours staring into the darkness, listening to the man’s even breathing. * * * * * But there had been another example of “any wife to any husband,” that must, for a moment, have its record. Maradick feared, on coming into his room, that his wife was not yet in bed. She was sitting in front of her glass brushing her hair. She must have seen him in the mirror, but she did not move. She looked very young, almost like a little doll; as she sat there he had again the curious feeling of pathos that he had known at breakfast. Absurd! Emmy Maradick was the last person about whom anyone need be pathetic, but nevertheless the feeling was there. He got into bed without a word. She went on silently combing her hair. It got on his nerves; he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He turned his eyes away towards the wall, but slowly they turned back again, back to the silent white figure in the centre of the room by the shining glass.