Mary's thoughts were blotted out by a sudden rush of misery and impatience. If only James would go away—what use could there possibly be in talking like this! It was with an effort that she forced herself to answer him. "I'm sorry, James," she told him, "but I can't help it."
He fidgeted for a little with the edge of her quilt, but no fresh way of approach presented itself. Before Mary's obstinacy his mind seemed heavy. She was not in a state, he told himself, when she could be reasoned with. "Perhaps you'd rather I went?" he asked her, his uneasiness showing even in his voice.
Mary was not in a state, either, to notice the tones and inflections of people's voices. She assented at once. "Yes, please, James, I would—I really am sorry."
"Good-night then." He spoke quickly and turned away without waiting to hear whether she answered. Outside the door his doubt rose coldly before him. "I'm damned if I know what to do!" he said, and went downstairs.
Inside, Mary lay sobbing with her face in the pillow. Now that she had sent him away she was sorry for James. For a moment she saw him, not as her erring husband, but as a man who had asked for forgiveness and been refused. Then her sorrow turned to resentment again. If she had been cruel it was he who had made her cruel, it was he who had robbed her of her love for him!
As the night passed her tired mind became incapable of coherent thought. The image of James faded to a dim figure, menacing and oppressive, that would not let her rest or sleep. She had never longed for anything, she felt, as she longed for sleep. It seemed the last effort of James's tyranny that he should deny it her.
She slept towards daybreak, and was awakened next morning by Penn bringing her hot water and her letters. There was still no news from Rosemary, but on her breakfast tray, when it came, she found a note from James.
"I will not worry you to-day by trying to see you," it said, "if you had rather not. But if you are well enough I should be glad if you would fix a time for seeing me to-morrow, as there is a most important business matter I want to discuss with you. I hope you have had a good night, and are feeling better."
It was signed with his initials.
Mary stared dully at the familiar writing. So far as she could see it was meant as a threat. She could think of no other motive, for it seemed to her evident that James could, if he liked, have delayed the interview. The letter, on its face, could not show her the nervous impatience which had made the poor man take any positive step rather than admit, by doing nothing, that he was baffled.