"Wolff!" she said.
Very gently, but firmly, he loosened her clasp. He heard the major move impatiently; he knew nothing of the bridge which she had lowered for him to cross and take her in his old possession. And even if he had known he could not have acted otherwise.
"I must go, dear," he said. "I am on important duty."
"More important than I am?"
"Yes, even more important than you are!"
She drew back of her own accord and let him go. The moment's self-surrender was gone, and because it had been in vain the gulf between them had widened.
Miles laughed as he saw her face.
"It must be amusing to be married to a German," he said. "I suppose you are never an important duty, are you?"
Nora went out of the room without answering. She almost hated Miles for his biting, if disguised criticism; she hated herself because it awoke in her an echo, a bitter resentment against her husband. She was the secondary consideration: he proved it every day of his life. His so-called duty was no more in her eyes than an insatiable ambition which thrust every other consideration on one side. He had never yet given up a day's work to her pleasure; he sat hour after hour locked in his room, and toiled for his advancement, indifferent to her loneliness, to the bitter struggle which was being fought out in the secrecy of her heart; and when she came to him, as in that vital moment, with outstretched hands, pleading for his help and pity, he had thrust her aside because, forsooth, he had "important duty"! He was like those other men she had met who dressed their wives like beggars rather than go with a shabby uniform or deny themselves a good horse. He was selfish, self-important, and she was no more in his life than a toy—or at most an unpaid housekeeper, as her father had prophesied. How right they had been, those home-people! How true their warnings had proved themselves! Her love had intoxicated her, blinded her to the insurmountable barriers. She saw now, more clearly than ever before, in her dawning recognition, that she stood alone, without a friend, in the innermost depths of her nature a stranger even to her husband. And he had not helped her. He had left her to her solitude, he had cut her off from the one companion who might have made her life bearable. He was as narrow, as bigoted as the rest of those who judged her by the poor standard of their foreign prejudices and customs. The thought of that last interview with Frau von Arnim was fuel to the kindling fire in Nora's brain. She had been treated like a criminal—or, worse, like a silly child who has been caught stealing. She had been ordered to obedience like a will-less inferior who has been admitted into the circle of higher beings and must submit to the extreme rigour of their laws. Whereas, it was she who had condescended, who had sacrificed her more glorious birthright to associate with them! All that was obstinate and proud in Nora's nature rose and overwhelmed the dread of the threatening consequences. Let Frau von Arnim tell her husband the truth as she knew it! Let Wolff despise her, cast her and hers from him as, according to his rigid code of honour, he was bound to do! It would but hasten the catastrophe which in Nora's eyes was becoming inevitable. Her love for her husband sank submerged beneath the accumulation of a bitterness and an antagonism which was not so much personal as national.
Thus it was in no peaceful or conciliatory mood that she took her place in Frau von Hollander's carriage that afternoon. Her manners were off-hand, her remarks tinged with an intentional arrogance which led her meek companion to the conclusion that public opinion was right, after all, and die kleine Engländerin an intolerable person. Nevertheless, she did her best to act the part of amiable hostess, and attempted to draw Nora's attention to the points of interest as they passed.