She scanned his, marked the new lines in it, the sullen droop to his eyes, usually so frank. She recalled the fact that he had not gone into their bedroom during this day; that he had kept to the public places in this house, as if it were no longer his house; that he had answered all her questions briefly; that in the garden he had drawn back from the touch of her hand; that now he was hurrying secretly to finish dining. She had premonitions of some unimaginable disaster which intimately concerned herself, but she could not bear to think what it was. By a forlorn faith many a woman receives strength to remain stupidly blind to her fate. Helen had some sort of faith that, if she kept perfectly quiet, this horror, whatever it was, would pass without being revealed to her. Then suddenly her courage broke. Cutter thrust back his chair, rose from the table and made for the door. She followed him. “George,” she cried, “what is it? I am frightened”; the last word keyed to a wail. They were standing where she had overtaken him in the hall. He took out his watch, stared at it. “Twenty minutes past seven. The express is due at eight,” he muttered with the air of a man who times himself, leaving not a minute to spare. “Yes, the express is due then, but--” she began. “I am leaving on that train for New York,” he said, addressing her point-blank. “But, George, this is only one day for me; and you have been away five weeks,” she exclaimed. “Helen, come in here. I have something to tell you, and very few minutes to spare,” standing aside that she might precede him into the parlor. She went in, sat in one of the mahogany chairs and regarded him with that long, winged look. The suppressed harshness of his voice had steadied her. She was calm. Women can withdraw to some quiet corner, sit perfectly still and watch you condemn yourself without a tremor, although the moment before they may have been distracted by every fear. I have sometimes thought it might be a form of spiritual catalepsy. In any case, it is a very fortunate seizure. “I am returning to New York to-night,” Cutter informed her, still standing as if this departure was imminent. “I shall make my home there in the future.” “Without me?” she asked, as if it was merely information she wanted. “Without you,” he repeated, nodding his head for emphasis. “For how long?” “I have resigned as president of the bank here, disposed of all my interests. It is not my intention ever to come back to Shannon.” He did not look around to see how she had received this blow. He waited; silence, no movement, not a sound. “You can get a divorce. It will be easy,” he suggested. “No,” she answered. “I inferred that you would not now. Later, you may decide differently.” She said “No,” and she did not repeat it.