He brought his eyes back to her face, and looked at her long and earnestly. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and held her a little way off, still scrutinising her attentively.
“Do you think it necessary to ask that?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered almost passionately. She put her hands over his and clung to him desperately, exerting all her control to keep back the rising tears. “Once our love sufficed, dearest heart; you wanted only to be with me; and now—”
“Aren’t you being a little foolish?” he asked. “People who live together develop a sort of independence of each other after a while. Because I like to be quiet for an hour or two during the evening, need that be construed into a sign of indifference?”
“No,” she said; “not that in itself. But my love is not strong enough any longer to hold you. You’ve slipped back into the old ways, dear. It’s breaking my heart, Paul; I can’t bear it.”
She dropped her face on to his knees and wept bitterly, with her eyes hidden in her hands. His own hand, shaky and uncertain, came to rest on her hair, stroked her hair gently.
“I’m a brute,” he said, “an inconsiderate brute.” He gathered her in his arms and drew her up and held her, weeping still, upon his knee. “Don’t cry. Tell me what you want. I’ll try, Esmé. I didn’t think it was so bad as this. I’ll pull myself together. Don’t cry, sweetheart. It distresses me to see you cry. The brute I’ve been!”
He drew her wet cheek to his and kissed her, and she wound her arms about his neck and clung to him, sobbing softly, with her head resting like a tired child’s on his shoulder.
When the sounds of her sobs ceased he got up and left the room with her and went with her upstairs. For that night she had won a victory. But she did not feel sure any longer that her influence would hold. He had made her promises before and broken them again. It seemed to her that his will had weakened considerably: she no longer felt any real confidence in him.
Perhaps she allowed him to see this, and so lost much of her hold on him. He was conscious always that she watched him; and his manner became furtive and suspicious as a result of this supervision. His moods of repentance did not endure for long; but while they lasted his hatred of himself for the distress he caused the wife whom he still tenderly loved was genuine and deep. It was as though his life were accursed and the curse of his misfortune overshadowed her.