She had hardly seen Chris—it was Feathers who had been her chief companion—good, kind Feathers, with his ugly face and his heart of gold. Did he know, she wondered, what sort of a marriage hers was? If so, he had never let her guess by word or look that he knew, and once more she fell back on her old desperate hope.
"I shall get used to it—I must get used to it."
She had been married a fortnight now—only fourteen days—but they seemed like years. The pain had not lessened, and the weary, aching disappointment was still as keen.
And sudden revolt rose in her mind. She had as much right to her happiness as anyone else. After all, what was the use of straining after the unattainable? Why not take what the gods gave and be thankful?
She opened the door again and looked out on to the landing; she knew that Chris' room was the one next to hers, with a 78 communicating door which she had locked on her side.
The outer door was not quite closed now, and she could see a thin streak of light through the opening.
She drew the door of her room to behind her and stood there in the subdued light of the passage, her heart beating fast, her lips quivering nervously.
She had put out her hand tremblingly to knock at his door when suddenly she heard his voice from within, speaking angrily:
"Look here. I'm not going to be lectured by you and that's final! The Lord only knows why you've suddenly climbed into the pulpit like this. If you say you saw me with Mrs. Heriot it's no use denying it, but it's nothing to do with you, and I'll thank you to mind your own confounded business. It was an accident that the skiff drifted away, I tell you! And it's a darned lucky thing I could swim, or we should have been left on that infernal boat all night! And then you would have had something to talk about, but as it is . . ." he broke off, and there followed the angry slamming of a drawer.
Then Feathers spoke, quite quietly, and without any anger.