"Aren't you being a little foolish?" he asked. "People who live together develop a sort of independence of each other after a while. Because I like to be quiet for an hour or two during the evening, need that be construed into a sign of indifference?" "No," she said; "not that in itself. But my love is not strong enough any longer to hold you. You've slipped back into the old ways, dear. It's breaking my heart, Paul; I can't bear it." She dropped her face on to his knees and wept bitterly, with her eyes hidden in her hands. His own hand, shaky and uncertain, came to rest on her hair, stroked her hair gently. "I'm a brute," he said, "an inconsiderate brute." He gathered her in his arms and drew her up and held her, weeping still, upon his knee. "Don't cry. Tell me what you want. I'll try, Esme. I didn't think it was so bad as this. I'll pull myself together. Don't cry, sweetheart. It distresses me to see you cry. The brute I've been!" He drew her wet cheek to his and kissed her, and she wound her arms about his neck and clung to him, sobbing softly, with her head resting like a tired child's on his shoulder. When the sounds of her sobs ceased he got up and left the room with her and went with her upstairs. For that night she had won a victory. But she did not feel sure any longer that her influence would hold. He had made her promises before and broken them again. It seemed to her that his will had weakened considerably: she no longer felt any real confidence in him. Perhaps she allowed him to see this, and so lost much of her hold on him. He was conscious always that she watched him; and his manner became furtive and suspicious as a result of this supervision. His moods of repentance did not endure for long; but while they lasted his hatred of himself for the distress he caused the wife whom he still tenderly loved was genuine and deep. It was as though his life were accursed and the curse of his misfortune overshadowed her. It amazed Hallam and disconcerted him enormously when he began to realise that he had lost his grip on himself. He had imagined that he had conquered his vice, that he could keep it under without particular effort. He had believed in himself with an even greater confidence than Esme had once believed in him: he had relied, with an almost arrogant faith in the power of the human will, on his unaided effort to control his desires. At the time of his marriage he had felt quite sure of himself; otherwise he would never have injured the girl he loved by linking her lot with his. He felt as though he had been guilty of a breach of faith with her; and this thought worried him unceasingly, till he drugged his mind into temporary oblivion and laid up thereby further torment for his sober hours. The state of things became unendurable, and finally worked to a climax.