He reflected upon these proofs of her possession of a certain strong-mindedness and strength of character, and both before and after she had come to him as his wife he had many tokens of her superiority to other women in yielding only to the guidance of her own feeling. This being so, it was rather strange that he should now find that his thoughts had a trend in the direction of the question as to whether it might not be possible that, through her desire to please his mother--to prevent people from shaking their heads--she might be led to be untrue to herself--nay, might she not feel that she could only be true to herself by making such a move as would prevent people from saying, as in other circumstances they would be sure to do, that he was to blame in keeping her with him? That was the direction in which his thoughts went after he had been sitting on his chair under her window for an hour. But another half-hour had passed before there came upon him in a flash a dreadful suggestion, sending him to his feet in a second as though it were a flash of lightning that hurled him out of his chair. He stood there breathing hard, his eyes turned in the direction of her window above him. He remembered how he had looked up to that window on that night in June when his longing had been: “Oh, that I could hear her voice at that window telling me that she is there!” She was there--up there in that room now, but... He flung away the cigar which he held unlighted between his fingers, and went indoors and up the staircase. He remained breathing hard with his hand on the handle of her door. Would he find that that door was locked--locked against him? He turned the handle. She had not locked the door. She was his wife. CHAPTER XXVII The interview which he most dreaded in the morning was averted, or at any rate postponed. His mother had had a very bad night and was unable to get up--she might not be able to leave her bed for a week. Her malady, though not actually dangerous, was disquieting because it was so weakening, a bad attack frequently keeping her in bed for ten days or a fortnight; and complete quiet was necessary for her recovery and long afterwards. Jack breathed again. He had been thinking of the revelation which he had to make to his mother before many hours had passed, and the more he thought of it the greater repugnance did he feel for the discharge of this duty. He breathed more freely. She might not be in a position to hear the story for several days, and what might happen in the meantime? He could not of course make a suggestion as to what might happen; only one happening might be looked for with certainty, and this was the visit of Marcus Blaydon. “He will not delay in striking his first blow,” said Priscilla. “You will let me see him alone? I shall know what to say to him, Jack.” But Jack felt that, clever and all though his wife was, he knew better than she did how to deal with such men as Blaydon.