“‘Mr Paul Johnson, madam!’
“There was a pause. I saw a look, half terror, half relief, pass across Margaret’s face; then she appeared to pull herself together. ‘Very well, Parker,’ she said, ‘show him up.’
“I rose to go. But she stretched out a hand of admonition.
“‘No, please, Gerald, no,’ she said, in a fluttered, nervous voice. ‘It may be—I don’t know—I’d rather you stayed.’
“I had known Paul Johnson for a long time. I had seen him change from a silent youth into a diffident, ineffectual man; I had been present at his wedding; and I had felt vaguely sorry for him as I shook hands with his bride and scanned for a hurried moment the hard-set rigor of her mouth. I had noticed his absence from the club, and learnt later of his resignation. From time to time I had seen him at dinner parties and garden parties, always silent, almost shy, his eyes timidly following his wife. I had not seen him, though, since his romance with Margaret. I was curious to know if it had altered him, whether he was more of a man, more confident, or whether he had been overwhelmed, scorched, shrivelled by the hot flame of her love for him.
“His appearance, as he stood for a moment irresolute in the centre of the room, shifting from one foot to the other, with one finger plucking at the bottom button of his waistcoat and his other hand raised to stroke the curling down of his beard, gave me small guide to whatsoever change the past eighteen months might have worked in him. He was obviously the prey of one emotion, an emotion that obliterated the chance characteristics of environment. He was a man wounded, frightened, desperate. Without acknowledging my presence, without seeming even to notice me he began to pour forth an eager stream of words.
“‘Oh, Margaret, my dear! my dear! I don’t know what to do, it’s terrible after all these months, after all we’ve meant one to another, for this to happen. Oh! my dear! my dear!’
“He stumbled towards her, sat on the edge of the footstool at her feet, and leant his face forward in his hands.
“She rested her hand upon his shoulder.
“‘What is it, Paul, darling?’