He drew his arm about her. Something within her was rising as the slow tide rises before the September gale, and she felt that all her firmness would be as the sand forts which the children build, when that irresistible final wave shall carry its engulfing volume over all. She summoned to her aid the most frightful souvenirs of her unhappy marriage, and pushed him violently away. His answer was a sudden grasp of mighty vigor, at which she gave a muffled scream.
“You detest me, then?” he said through his teeth.
“It is my hat,” she cried, freeing herself; “you drove the longest pin straight into my head.”
He moved a little away, and in so doing trod upon the match-box. Then in an instant there was light again, and he could see her, her arms upraised, straightening her hat.
“It is most badly on,” he told her.
“I know it,” she replied, starting swiftly upward.
At the curve he stopped short and shut his eyes; she stopped too, three steps farther on.
“Are you ill?” she asked anxiously.
He opened his eyes.
“I am most unhappy,” he replied, and went on again.