She stood up quickly as if moved by a spring and tottered. He started forward instinctively. She caught hold of the back of the chair and steadied herself. This arrested him, and they faced each other wide-eyed, uncertain, and yet coming back slowly to the reality of things with relief and wonder, as though just awakened after tossing through a long night of fevered dreams. “Pray, don’t begin again,” he said, hurriedly, seeing her open her lips. “I deserve some little consideration--and such unaccountable behaviour is painful to me. I expect better things. . . . I have the right. . . .” She pressed both her hands to her temples. “Oh, nonsense!” he said, sharply. “You are perfectly capable of coming down to dinner. No one should even suspect; not even the servants. No one! No one! . . . I am sure you can.” She dropped her arms; her face twitched. She looked straight into his eyes and seemed incapable of pronouncing a word. He frowned at her. “I--wish--it,” he said, tyrannically. “For your own sake also. . . .” He meant to carry that point without any pity. Why didn’t she speak? He feared passive resistance. She must. . . . Make her come. His frown deepened, and he began to think of some effectual violence, when most unexpectedly she said in a firm voice, “Yes, I can,” and clutched the chair-back again. He was relieved, and all at once her attitude ceased to interest him. The important thing was that their life would begin again with an every-day act--with something that could not be misunderstood, that, thank God, had no moral meaning, no perplexity--and yet was symbolic of their uninterrupted communion in the past--in all the future. That morning, at that table, they had breakfast together; and now they would dine. It was all over! What had happened between could be forgotten--must be forgotten, like things that can only happen once--death for instance. “I will wait for you,” he said, going to the door. He had some difficulty with it, for he did not remember he had turned the key. He hated that delay, and his checked impatience to be gone out of the room made him feel quite ill as, with the consciousness of her presence behind his back, he fumbled at the lock. He managed it at last; then in the doorway he glanced over his shoulder to say, “It’s rather late--you know--” and saw her standing where he had left her, with a face white as alabaster and perfectly still, like a woman in a trance.