“I heard the child cry,” he answered. “I didn’t suppose I should find you here. Why are you not in bed?”
“I couldn’t rest,” she said. “I was sitting at my window looking out at the sea. Then the boy awoke... You shouldn’t have come in. Your wife—”
“She is asleep,” he returned... “Besides, what does it matter?”
He made a movement towards her, but she drew back quickly.
“Blanche!” he muttered.
She swept the hair from her face with a weary gesture, and stood, a drooping, dejected figure in the dim light, regarding the man with cold, resentful eyes.
“You are making life very hard for me,” she said. “Why don’t you leave me alone? To-day you have made me almost hate you. You said things which made me mad.”
“I love you,” he whispered sullenly. “I can’t help that, can I?”
“Love!” The scorn in her voice stung him. She pointed to the closed door. “In pity’s name, go now, before you compromise me utterly. Let your love show that much consideration for me.”
Without a word he turned and left the room, and she heard him enter his own room and shut the door softly behind him.