THE TRUTH
In answer to her husband's low knock, Chris turned from her dressing-table. She had switched on the electric light, and had taken down her hair, preparatory to dressing for dinner. It hung all about her in magnificent ripples of ruddy light and shade. Her face, in the midst of it, looked very small and tired. She was clad in a plain white wrapper, that fell away from her neck and arms, giving her a very childish appearance.
"Yes, I'm getting up," she said, with the flicker of a smile. "I couldn't sleep."
He entered and closed the door behind him in silence.
"Has Aunt Philippa gone?" she asked.
He responded briefly, "Three hours ago."
"Ah!" She stretched out her arms with the gesture of one freed from an irksome burden, but they fell again immediately, almost as if a fresh burden had taken its place.
She stood for a few seconds motionless, looking straight before her. Finally, with a hint of nervousness, she turned her eyes upon her husband; they shone intensely blue in the strong light.
"We shall soon be quite alone," she said.
His eyes did not answer hers. They looked remote and cold. "Come and sit down," he said.