Pause.
"Georgia," a little louder, "are you awake?"
No answer.
He touched her, as if carelessly. She stirred. Ah, she would—no, her breathing was markedly the breathing of slumber. Perhaps she was pretending. Oh, well, what was the use of his trying, if she was going to act so?
He turned noisily back to his side of the bed. He was disappointed in her. Was it fair of her to pretend—if she was pretending? After all, she was his wife.
A husband has his rights. That was what the church said. Otherwise, what was the use of getting married and supporting a woman—well, most men supported their wives, and he intended to do so again soon, very soon.
Yes, he had the teachings on his side. He wanted nothing beyond the bond. It was holy wedlock, wasn't it?
He placed his hand upon her waist. And yet she would give no sign. More resolutely than before she counterfeited the presentment of sleep.
"Georgia!" he spoke aloud.
"What is it!" she said, quickly, sitting up, her black braids falling back on her slim shoulders.