Then suddenly the past and present divided, and in the space between Roger saw a future, the future Katya had pictured—a devastating passion that would destroy him—or remake life. Roger felt as if a fiery wind were suddenly blowing upon him, and his hold on Rogie tightened. He did not want life broken or remade. He wanted to work on as he was working, accomplish more and more, mold Rogie to the ideal he had once shaped for himself, but which he sometimes felt now was very high and far away. He would get only a little way to it and die. But Rogie might reach and pass it.
The door opened and Anne came in. Quietly Roger handed the baby to her, and she went back again into the bedroom. Roger got up and stood leaning against the mantelshelf.
Had Anne really changed?
Had he?
From the maze of separate interests and ideals could they find one tiny path back to the old dreams? Could they cut a new one to a shared future? Would his arms ever again seek Anne hungrily of their own will? Would hers close about him and hold him fiercely as they had held him by the lake? Was need like this ever reborn?
What was Anne doing in the other room? Why didn't she come back?
She came at last, softly closing the door behind her. At the other end of the hearth she too stood leaning against the mantelshelf, staring down into the fire, as conscious of the familiar room and Roger leaning so close beside her as Roger of her.
What was Roger going to do? What did he expect of her? In a moment would he take his things and go, as many guests had gone after a pleasant evening in those far gone days? Would she lock the door and put out the lights after Roger, as Roger had done after those other guests whose going had meant nothing at all?
Why did Roger stand there staring into the fire? Was he waiting for her to speak?
Without changing her position Anne looked to him. He seemed suddenly, in her absence with Rogie, to have grown strangely weary. His face, turned in profile, looked thinner, sharper, and a little drawn about the corners of the eyes and lips. His shoulders sagged as they only did when he was very tired. When he had grown suddenly tired like this it had always rested him to lie on the couch and have her stroke his head quietly in one long, sweeping gesture from forehead to neck. Anne felt the outline of his head now beneath her hand, and the dry crispness of his hair as if it were actually beneath her touch. She looked quickly back into the fire.