"Hugh," she cried, as though the name must surely explain everything: but he did not turn, even. He shut the door, quietly.
Helena threw herself face downwards on the sofa, but she could not cry.
CHAPTER XXII
THE IRON IN THE SOUL
To Helena the most terrible part about her husband's attitude was his astounding calmness. If he had but raged and stormed, she could have endured it. She might even have explained. What she could not bear was this chill resignation.
"We had better talk as usual in front of Lily," was all he said, coldly, before breakfast the next morning. "There's no reason why she should guess that anything is different."
"Must it be different?" she brought herself to say, though even that was difficult, with him like this.
As usual, he laughed contemptuously. "Do you expect it to be just the same, when I know, everybody knows——" He broke off. "Well," he said, "I suppose most married couples spend their time living up to their domestics. It's only we were lucky for a bit...."
They talked about the weather, then, and the day's news till Lily had gone out; he even called her "dear," but she could not live up to that: and when they were alone again, he gave a sigh which she interpreted to mean relief and finally retired behind his propped-up morning paper.