"With Mrs. Fanshawe," said she. And again the silence fell.
Suddenly a desire and a doubt came to her. She did not know how they came, for the impulse that prompted them seemed to have taken no part in her thoughts. Apparently something behind that wall of gluelike wax had stirred—stirred imperatively, giving her quickness and decision. She rose.
"I shall go across and see Elizabeth," she said. "I know you have been wanting to do that all morning, Edward. But you couldn't say it. I understood."
He got up also.
"What do you mean?" he said. "What are you saying?"
"Something perfectly simple. Of course you want to see Elizabeth, and of course you find a difficulty in telling me so. Do you know that we haven't mentioned Elizabeth's name, except as a stranger might mention it, ever since our marriage, ever since the night, in fact, that—that I settled to marry you."
"No; and that was natural, wasn't it?"
Certainly something stirred behind the sealed-up partition. The bees themselves, the thoughts and workers in Edith's mind, were tearing the partition away.
"I suppose it was," she said. "But I want to see Elizabeth now. That is natural, too, because I was always fond of Elizabeth, and I don't blame her because you loved her. You see, she never loved you; she told me that herself."
He came close to her.