“I am really a very bad wife, Jason,” she said suddenly; “self-absorbed and inattentive.” “You suit me,” he replied inadequately. He was extraordinarily moved by her remark: she had never before even suggested that she was conscious of obligation. He wanted to put into words some of the warmth of feeling which filled his heart, but suitable speech evaded him. He could not shake off the fear that such protestations might be displeasing to her restrained being. Moving slightly away from him she seemed, in the soft gloom, more wonderful than ever. Set in white against the depths of the garden, her face, dimly visible, appeared to be without its customary faintly mocking smile. “Do you remember, Jason,” she continued, “how I once said I thought I was marrying you because I was lonely, and that I found out it wasn't so? I didn't know why.” She paused. He was enveloped by an intense eagerness to hear her to the end: it might be that something beyond his greatest hopes was to follow. But disappointment overtook him. “I was certain I'd see more clearly into myself soon, but I haven't; it's been useless trying. And I've decided to do this--to give up thinking about things for myself, and to wait for you to show me.” “But I can't do that,” he protested, facing her; “more-than half the time I wonder over almost that same question--why you ever married me?” “This is a frightful situation,” she observed with a return of her familiar manner; “two mature people joined for life, and neither with the slightest idea of the reason. Anyhow I have given it up.... I suppose I'll die in ignorance. Perhaps I was too old---” He interrupted her with an uncustomary incivility, a heated denunciation of what she had been about to say. “So you are not sorry,” he remarked after a little. “No,” she answered slowly, “and I'm certain I shan't be. I'm not that sort of person. I would go down to ruin sooner than regret.” She said no more, but went into the house, leaving Jason in the potent spring night. There was no longer any doubt about the lilacs: the air was laden with their scent. An entire hedge of them must have blossomed as he was standing there. He moved to the terrace below: there might be buds on the pear trees. But it was impossible to see the limbs. How could Honora expect him to make their marriage clear? He had never before seen her face so serene. He thought that he heard a vague stir outside the wall, and he remembered the presence of a semi-public path. Now there was a cautious mutter of voices. He advanced a step, then stopped at a scrambling of shoes against the wall. A vague form shouldered into view, momentarily clinging above him, and a harsh voice cried: “Murderer!”