How could I be master of a woman I secretly feared? My knowledge of myself spurred me through acute irritation almost to the verge of madness.
All calm was gone. I was alternately gentle to my wife and almost ferocious towards her, ready to fall at her feet and worship her or to seize her and treat her with physical violence. I only restrained myself by an effort.
My variations of manner did not seem to affect her. Indeed, it sometimes struck me that she feared me more when I was kind to her than when I was harsh.
And I knew, by a thousand furtive indications, that her horror of me was deepening day by day. I believe she could hardly bring herself to be in a room alone with me, especially after nightfall.
One evening, when we were dining, the butler, after placing dessert upon the table, moved to leave us. She turned white, and, as he reached the door, half rose, and called him back in a sharp voice.
“Symonds!” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You are going?”
The fellow looked surprised.
“Can I get you anything, ma’am?”