“Oh, that is gone,” he said.
With a slow, mechanical rhythm she stroked his cheek.
“And will you be sad?” she said, hesitating.
“Sad!” he repeated.
“But will you be able to fake the old life up, happier, when you go back?”
“The old life will take me up, I suppose,” he said.
There was a pause.
“I think, dear,” she said, “I have done wrong.”
“Good Lord—you have not!” he replied sharply, pressing back his head to look at her, for the first time.
“I shall have to send you back to Beatrice and the babies—tomorrow—as you are now….”