He shut himself away from her more than formerly, and sat up late into the night reading in his study. Occasionally he fell asleep in his chair and remained there until the morning, to wake cramped and unrefreshed and creep upstairs in the dawn.
Book Three—Chapter Twenty Four.
These late hours, and the fact that he had taken to sleeping in the dressing-room from a desire not to disturb her, excited Esmé’s worst apprehensions. She fell into the habit of lying awake and listening for him: she could not rest while she knew that he was downstairs. The old sickening sensation of terror, which had seized her at the Zuurberg when she listened to him stumbling along the stoep on his way to his room, gripped her anew each time that she heard him mount the stairs and go unsteadily to the dressing-room in his stockinged feet.
The horror of it was as a nightmare which tormented her unceasingly. She was afraid of him when he had been drinking heavily; not afraid that he would do her any physical injury; but the look in his eyes terrified her; it seemed to alter him, to make him a stranger almost. There were times when he passed her on the stairs or landing with wide-opened eyes which appeared not to notice her presence: the sight of him thus made her knees shake under her and blanched her face. It was like meeting a sleep-walker, only more horrible.
She went to him one night in his study and kneeled on the carpet beside him and pleaded with him.
“Paul,” she said, and lifted sweet, distressed eyes to his, with no reproach in their look, only a great sadness. “Aren’t you neglecting me a little? Why do you shut yourself away every night? I’m lonely all by myself.”
“I thought you were in bed,” he said, and moved restlessly and avoided her gaze. “You usually go to bed at ten o’clock.”
“Not lately,” she answered. “I sit up and wait for you. I think to myself, he may need me. I am always hoping against hope. My dear, why do you shut yourself away from me? It’s unkind. Paul, don’t you love me any longer?”