“No, of course not. Sit down, David. What have you been doing with yourself?”
Instead of sitting down he walked to the window and looked out. The sky was one even grey, and, though the rain had ceased, heavy drops were falling from the roof and denting the earth in Elizabeth’s window boxes, which were full of daffodils in bud. After a moment he turned and said impatiently, “How dark this room is!”
Elizabeth divined in him a reaction, a fear of what she had done, and might do. She knew very well why he had stayed away. Without replying she put out her hand and touched a switch on the wall. A tall lamp with a yellow shade sprang into view, and the whole room became filled with a soft, warm light.
David left the window, but still he did not sit. For a while he walked up and down restlessly, but at length came to a standstill between Elizabeth and the fire. He was so close to her that she had only to put out her hand and it would have touched his. He stood looking, now at the miniatures on the wall, now at the fire which burned with a steady red glow. He was half turned from Elizabeth, but she could see his face. It was strained and thin. The flesh had fallen away, leaving the great bones prominent.
It was Elizabeth who broke the silence, and she said what she had not meant to say.
“David, are you better? Are you sleeping?”
“No,” he said shortly.
“And you won’t let me help?”
“I didn’t say so.”
“Did you think I didn’t know?” Elizabeth’s voice was very sad.