Helena lay flagging upon the breast of Siegmund. He folded her closely, and his mouth and his breath were warm on her neck. She sank away from his caresses, passively, subtly drew back from him. He was far too sensitive not to be aware of this, and far too much of a man not to yield to the woman. His heart sank, his blood grew sullen at her withdrawal. Still he held her; the two were motionless and silent for some time. She became distressedly conscious that her feet, which lay on the wet grass, were aching with cold. She said softly, gently, as if he was her child whom she must correct and lead: “I think we ought to go home, Siegmund.” He made a small sound, that might mean anything, but did not stir or release her. His mouth, however, remained motionless on her throat, and the caress went out of it. “It is cold and wet, dear; we ought to go,” she coaxed determinedly. “Soon,” he said thickly. She sighed, waited a moment, then said very gently, as if she were loath to take him from his pleasure: “Siegmund, I am cold.” There was a reproach in this which angered him. “Cold!” he exclaimed. “But you are warm with me—” “But my feet are out on the grass, dear, and they are like wet pebbles.” “Oh dear!” he said. “Why didn’t you give them me to warm?” He leaned forward, and put his hand on her shoes. “They are very cold,” he said. “We must hurry and make them warm.” When they rose, her feet were so numbed she could hardly stand. She clung to Siegmund, laughing. “I wish you had told me before,” he said. “I ought to have known….” Vexed with himself, he put his arm round her, and they set off home. V They found the fire burning brightly in their room. The only other person in the pretty, stiffly-furnished cottage was their landlady, a charming old lady, who let this sitting-room more for the change, for the sake of having visitors, than for gain. Helena introduced Siegmund as “My friend”. The old lady smiled upon him. He was big, and good-looking, and embarrassed. She had had a son years back…. And the two were lovers. She hoped they would come to her house for their honeymoon. Siegmund sat in his great horse-hair chair by the fire, while Helena attended to the lamp. Glancing at him over the glowing globe, she found him watching her with a small, peculiar smile of irony, and anger, and bewilderment. He was not quite himself. Her hand trembled so, she could scarcely adjust the wicks. Helena left the room to change her dress. “I shall be back before Mrs Curtiss brings in the tray. There is the Nietzsche I brought—” He did not answer as he watched her go. Left alone, he sat with his arms along his knees, perfectly still. His heart beat heavily, and all his being felt sullen, watchful, aloof, like a balked animal. Thoughts came up in his brain like bubbles—random, hissing out aimlessly. Once, in the startling inflammability of his blood, his veins ran hot, and he smiled.