"Seein' nothing of you—nothing from mornin' till night. You know, old girl, it isn't fair—if we didn't care about one another——"
"Yes, I know—but don't let's discuss it to-night. I'm tired, headachy—this storm——"
He said nothing—She looked at him and at the steady stare in his eyes and the smile at his mouth turned away.
She moved towards the door—He said nothing, but his eyes followed her.
"Good night," she said, turning round to him—but he still said nothing, only stood there very square and set.
For a long time he sat, looking into the fire—Then he went up to his room and very slowly undressed. Afterwards he came out, carefully closing the door behind him, then, in dressing-gown and pyjamas, went down the passage to Rachel's door.
The house was very still, but the storm was raging and the boughs of some tree hit, with fierce protesting taps, a window at the passage-end.
He knocked at her door, waited, then heard her ask who was there.
"It's I, Roddy," he said. There was a pause, then the door was opened. He came in and stood in the doorway. Rachel was sitting up in bed, her face very white, her eyes fixed on him.
"I'm sleepin' here to-night, Rachel," he said.