“I will try to do so,” he said. “You may trust me. Never by word or look will I ever remind you that we are husband and wife. That I can promise you.”
Her lips moved—they were very white at this moment—but all he could hear was:
“Thank you. I—I trust you.”
“You may do so,” he said, as simply as she had spoken.
There was a silence. The night had fallen suddenly, unnoticed by them. They stood motionless—as if a chasm had suddenly opened and gaped between them.
Then he seemed to awaken from a spell.
“I—I will go out,” he said. “Will you have the lights?”
The commonplace question struck hideously. She shook her head.
He walked to the door, then paused, and looked back at her. She stood quite motionless, gazing vacantly into the night. He sighed—it was very nearly a groan—and then, like an idiot, went out and left her.