As he sat opposite her in the compartment, she was exaggerating into glaring faults the many little signs of indifference to fashion in his dress. She had never especially noted before, but now she was noting as a shuddering exhibition of "commonness," that he wore detachable cuffs--and upon this detail her distraught mind fixed as typical. She could not take her eyes off his wrists; every time he moved his arms so that she could see the wristband within his cuff, she felt as if a piece of sandpaper were scraping her skin. He laid his hand on her two gloved hands, folded loosely in her lap. Every muscle, every nerve of her body grew tense; she only just fought down the impulse to snatch her hands away and shriek at him. She sat rigid, her teeth set, her eyes closed, until her real self got some control over the monstrous, crazy creature raving within her. Then she said: "Please don't--touch me--just now. I've been on such a strain--and I'm almost breaking down." He drew his hand away. "I ought to have understood," he said. "Would you like to be left alone for a while?" Without waiting for her answer, he left the compartment to her. She locked the door and let herself loose. When she had had her cry "out," she felt calm; but oh, so utterly depressed. "This is only a mood," she said to herself. "I don't really feel that way toward him. Still--I've made a miserable mistake. I ought not to have married him. I must hide it. I mustn't make him suffer for what's altogether my own fault. I must make the best of it." When he came back, she proceeded to put her programme into action. All the afternoon he strove with her sweet gentleness and exaggerated consideration for him; he tried to make her see that there was no necessity for this elaborate pose and pretense. But she was too absorbed in her part to heed him. In the evening, soon after they returned to the compartment from the dining car, he rose. "I am going out to smoke," he said. "I'll tell the porter to make up your berth. You must be very tired. I have taken another--out in the car--so that you will not be disturbed." She grew white, and a timid, terrified look came into her eyes. He touched her shoulder--gently. "Don't--please!" he said quietly. "In all the years we've known each other, have you ever seen anything in me to make you feel--like--that?" Her head drooped still lower, and her face became crimson. "Adelaide, look at me!" She lifted her eyes until they met his uncertainly. He put out his hand. "We are friends, aren't we?" She instantly laid her hand in his. "Friends," he repeated. "Let us hold fast to that--and let the rest take care of itself." "I'm ashamed of myself," said she. And in her swift revulsion of feeling there was again opportunity for him. But he was not in the mood to see it.