She had lately forgotten the slightly rasping quality in his voice, though it had been what she had first heard there. Now it seemed to her that she could hear nothing else.... What blind force was it that had thrust them so wide apart; after those ardent, tender, heart-breaking hours together at T'ainan; wonderful stolen hours, stirring her to a happiness so wildly beautiful that it touched creative springs in her sensitive young soul and released the strong eager woman there. This, the present situation, carried her so far beyond her experience, beyond her mental grasp, that, she could only sit very quiet and try to weather it. She could do that, of course, somehow. One did. It came down simply to the gift of character. And that, however undeveloped, she had.
Now and then, of course, clear thoughts flashed out for a moment; but only for a moment at a time. She sensed clearly enough that his whole being was centered on the need of protecting her. It was the fineness in him that made him hold himself so rigidly to the task. But it was a task to him; that was the thing. And his reticence! It was his attitude—or was it hers?—that had made frank talk impossible all day, ever since their moment of perfect silent understanding facing Mrs. Boatwright. He had felt then, with her, that she had to come, that it was their only way out; but now he, and therefore she, was clouded with afterthoughts. They had come to be frank enough about their dilemma, back there at T'ainan. But from the moment of leaving the city gate and striking tiff into the hills, they had lost something vital. And with every hour of this reticence, this talking about nothing, the situation was going to grow worse. She felt that, even now; struggled against it; but tound herself moving deeper, minute by minute, into the gloom that had settled on them.... And back of her groping thoughts, giving them a puzzling sort of life, was excitement, energy, the sense of being borne swiftly along on a mighty wave of feeling—swiftly, swiftly, to a tragic, dim place where the withered shadows of youth and joy and careless laughter caught at one in hopeless weakness and slipped off unheeded into the unknown.
They came down at last to politeness. They even spoke of the food; and he reproved John for not keeping the curried mutton hot. And then, without one personal word, he rose to go. She rose, too, and stood beside her chair; she couldn't raise her eyes. She heard his voice saying, coldly she thought:
“I shall leave you now. You must...”
She waited, holding her breath.
“... you must get what sleep you can. I think we shall have no trouble here.”
After this he stood for a long moment. She couldn't think why. Then he went out, softly closing the door after him. Then his door opened, and, with some creaking of rusty hinges and scraping on the tiles, closed. And then Betty dropped down by the table and let the tears come.