“I, what can I do?”
Mary hesitated. Why was she obliged to say what he should have known intuitively: did he love his wife?
“Her heart would be at rest if you would convince her it doesn’t matter to you what color her hair is.”
He was on his feet, his eyes averted.
“You want me to tell her?”
“Yes.”
He went to the door, then came back. “Will you come with me?”
“It’s better for you to go alone.”
He entered his wife’s room, sat down beside the bed, feeling like an intruder. She awoke startled, her eyes were deep with the sleep-shadows of opiates.
“Did I frighten you?”