Kingston and Gundred began insensibly to enter on that period of prosaic exploration which lies between the mystic raptures of the first hours and the later harmonies of settled married life. The day of blind passion seemed over. Gundred found herself commenting inwardly on Kingston’s habits; the smell of tobacco was no longer so precious to her as in the days when it stood for part of an enthralling enigma; his ways were untidy, he dropped the newspapers on the floor and never picked them up, he wrote his letters at odd times instead of setting aside a definite hour for correspondence; he was never in really good time for meals. And then he had mannerisms which, in the dual solitude, began to prey upon his wife. He sometimes walked up and down the room like a bear in a cage, until she wanted to scream; when he sat quiet, he occasionally kept up a maddening succession of little rhythmical taps with his feet; and, above all, he was given to whistling. Then in mind, though altogether precious, of course, and adorable, he had certain flaws. His religious views were clearly lax, his moral attitude was not strenuous, he was too eager, too inquisitive, for Gundred’s intelligence, which preferred to hold on firmly, with the unswerving trust of the dutiful pupil, to everything it had received at second-hand. She took life for granted, considered the scheme of things very admirable, and her own position in it more admirable still. Nothing was to be questioned. Therefore Kingston’s habit, divined or expressed, of accepting nothing without examination, made his wife feel worried and restless, as if her mind had mated with an earthquake. Finally, as the days went by, Kingston dissatisfied her inmost desires by gradually relaxing the amorous enthusiasm of their first married days. It is usually the man who first wearies of conjugal outbursts--men having other business in life, and women, under the old primeval dispensation, none. And Gundred’s discontent was the more exasperating that she was secretly ashamed of it, and had far too much personal pride, far too strong a sense of decorum, to express it. As Kingston grew less and less demonstrative in his affection, Gundred revenged herself at once on him and on her own feelings by stiffening herself into an added primness of factitious maidenhood, by which she had the power of holding herself aloof from her nearest and dearest, as well as of repelling that very sense of intimacy that her own most secret soul desired. Her soul was of those that render themselves to no subduing warmth of love, but, whatever the fate of the body, must be violated, if possible, and taken by assault.