But a moment’s comparison in the glass of the two faces side by side suddenly sharpened his attention—the resemblance was so oddly arresting, and yet, and yet, so curiously inconclusive. There was then something of the stolid old Saxon left, he thought. Or had it been regained? Which was it? Not merely the complexity of the question, but a half-conscious distaste of attempting to face it, set him reading very slowly and laboriously, for his French was little more than fragmentary recollection, the first few pages of the life of this buried Sabathier. But with a disinclination almost amounting to aversion he made very slow progress. Many of the words were meaningless to him, and every other moment he found himself listening with intense concentration for the least hint of what Sheila was doing, of what was going on in the house beneath him. He had not very long to wait. He was sitting with his head leaning on his hand, the book unheeded beneath the other on the table, when the door opened again behind him, and Sheila entered. She stood for a moment, calm and dignified, looking down on him through her veil. ‘Please understand, Arthur, that I am not taking this step in pique, or even in anger. It would serve no purpose to go on like this—this incessant heedlessness and recrimination. There have been mistakes, misconceptions, perhaps, on both sides. To me naturally yours are most conspicuous. That need not, however, blind me to my own.’ She paused in vain for an answer. ‘Think the whole thing over candidly and quietly,’ she began again in a quiet rapid voice. ‘Have you really shown the slightest regard, I won’t say for me, or even for Alice, but for just the obvious difficulties and—and proprieties of our position? I have given up as far as I can brooding on and on over the same horrible impossible thoughts. I withdraw unreservedly what I said just now about punishment. Whatever the evidence, it is not even a wife’s place to judge like that. You will forgive me that?’ Lawford did not turn his head. ‘Of course,’ he said, looking rather vacantly out of the window, ‘it was only in the heat of the moment, Sheila; though, who knows? it may be true.’