Even about Diane he was troubled no longer. He believed that she had loved Overton best, he knew that she would side with Overton; but he had no more strength to battle for her. He was ready to surrender.
He stumbled blindly along with the drowsy feeling surging over him again and again, weighing down his heavy eyelids. He had only one desire—to get home, find a spot to lie down and to sleep at last in peace. Overton lived, and henceforth, if any one had to suffer, he would be the sufferer, not Overton. The shackles had fallen off, and he could sleep.
He found his way by instinct, ascended the steps, and unlocked the door. He knew it was late, and he hoped Diane had gone to bed; but, as he opened the door, he saw that the lamp still burned brightly on the table in the living-room.
He took off his coat and left it on the settle by the door, occupying himself with trifles in the vain hope of delaying, even for a little while, the moment when he must begin again to act a part; but he heard her rise from her seat by the fire. When he entered the room, she was standing near the door, swathed in a delicate pink-silk kimono, her soft, dark hair falling about her shoulders. Her eyes, feverishly bright, looked dark and almost wild in her pale face.
“I sat up for you,” she explained brokenly. “I couldn’t sleep. I can’t bear it any longer, Arthur. Tell me what it is! What are you hiding from me—about the south pole?”
He did not reply at once, for he was, in a measure, taken by surprise. He came slowly into the room and walked past her to the fire, his head bent. He was trying to rally his thoughts. She turned back with him and stood watching him, scarcely daring to breathe. At last he threw back his head.
“I think I’ll tell you,” he said deliberately. “Overton thinks it can be kept a secret, and perhaps he’s right, but I say that you have a right to know, to decide for yourself. Anyway, I can’t go on. I’ve got to a place where I can’t go on!”
She was breathing quickly, a horrible fear dragging at her heart.
“What do you mean by keeping a secret? What has Overton to do with it?”
He turned and looked at her. She thought she had never seen such a strange expression on any man’s face—a look as if he had let go of everything, as if he no longer cared. But he spoke collectedly, even coldly.