This afternoon had showered upon him a relentless succession of reverberating displays, he had perceived one human being after another reveal quite nakedly their tumultuous feelings. It was, for him, precisely as though the Duchess, Rachel, Breton had stripped there before him and expected him to display no astonishment at their so doing--that he should have been the author of the business made it no better; he reflected that he had even looked forward with excitement to the affair. "If I had only known how beastly...." He was ashamed--ashamed of his own action in provoking these things, ashamed of his own lack of understanding, ashamed to have watched the sharpened tempers of his friends. He would never, Heaven help him, take part in any such scene again! But out of it all one good thing had come--he had got Rachel! As she had looked across the room, meeting his eyes, he had known that at last his long pursuit of her was at an end.... It never occurred to him that most husbands, after such a declaration as Rachel had just made, would have stormed, reproached, ridden, for a long time to come, the high horse of conscious superior virtue. It did not seem odd to him that at the very moment of Rachel's confession he should feel more sure of her than he had ever been before. At last the Nita Raseley debt was paid off. At last he knew, beyond question, that Rachel loved him. Best of all, perhaps, he had seen Breton and felt his own superiority. That being so, he wanted no words about the matter. He would like to lie there on his sofa, with her hands enclosed in his and nothing said between either of them--very pleasant and quiet there in the dusk. He hoped that he would never again have to explain anything or speak to anyone about his feelings--no, not even to Rachel. Then he discovered that she was sobbing as she knelt there, and his face crimsoned with confusion and alarm. Rachel, the proudest woman he had ever known, kneeling to him, crying! He tried to lift her, pressing her hands. "Rachel dear ... Rachel."--Her words came between her sobs. "I should have told you ... long ago ... I tried to--I did indeed ... but it was because I was frightened ... because I ... Oh! Roddy! you'll never trust me again!" He was burning hot with the confusion of it: he was almost angry both with himself and her. "Please, Rachel ... please ... don't ... it's all over, dear. There's nothing the matter." "It's fine of you ... to take it like that ... But you'll never forgive me, really, you can't--It isn't possible. This very afternoon ... I was going to tell you--if all this ... hadn't happened. You'll be different now--you must be ... just when I want you so much." He glanced in despair about the room. He looked at the sporting prints and the case of birds' eggs and at last at Rachel's photograph. How proud and splendid she was there! This dreadful abasement! He stroked her hair.