His brain felt brittle, but extraordinarily clear, luminous, transparent, the delicate centre of monstrous and destructive energies. It burned behind his eyeballs like a fire. His eyes were hot with it, the pupils strained, distended, gorged with light. This monstrous brain of his originated nothing, but ideas presented to it became monstrous, too. And their immensity roused no sense of the incredible. The table had been cleared of everything but coffee-cups, glasses, and wine. They still sat facing each other. Sarah had her arms on the table, propping her chin up with her clenched hands. Her head was tilted back slightly, in a way that was familiar to him; so that she looked at him from under the worn and wrinkled white lids of her eyes. And as she looked at him she smiled slightly; and the smile was familiar, too. And he sat opposite her, with his chin sunk on his breast. His bright, dark, distended eyes seemed to strain upwards towards her, under the weight of his flushed forehead. "Well, Wallie," she said, "I didn't get married, you see, after all." "Married--married? Why didn't you?" "I never meant to. I only wanted you to think it." "Why? Why did you want me to think it?" He was no longer disinclined to talk. Though his brain lacked spontaneity, it responded appropriately to suggestion. "I didn't want you to think something else." "What? What should I think?" His voice was thick and rapid, his eyes burned. "That you'd made a mess of my life, my dear." "When did I make a mess of your life?" "Never mind when. I _might_ have married, only I didn't. That's the difference between me and you." "And that's how I made a mess of your life, is it? I haven't made a furious success of my own, have I?" "I wouldn't have brought it up against you, if you had. The awful thing was to stand by, and see you make a sinful muddle of it" "A sinful muddle?" "Yes. That's what it's been. A sinful muddle." "Which is worse, d'you think, a sinful muddle? or a muddling sin?" "Oh, don't ask me, my dear. I can't see any difference." "My God--nor I!" "There's no good talking. You're so obstinate, Wallie, that I believe, if you could live your life over again, you'd do just the same." "I would, probably. Just the same." "There's nothing you'd alter?" "Nothing. Except one thing." "What thing?" "Never mind what." "I don't mind, if the one thing wasn't _me_--was it?" He did not answer. "Was it?" she insisted, turning the full blue blaze of her eyes on him. He started. "Of course it wasn't. You don't suppose I'd have said so if it had been, do you?" "A-ah! So, if you could live your life over again, you wouldn't turn me out of it? I didn't take up much room, did I? Only two years." "Two years?" "That was all. And you'd let me stay in for my two poor little years. Well, that's something. It's a great deal. It's more than some women get." "Yes. More than some women get." "Poor Wallie. I'm afraid you wouldn't live your life again."