For some days Paul made no reference to his wife’s confession, but went about the work of his estate, his Parliamentary labours, with stolid method, and only Grace’s new sympathy discerned the awful torment from which he suffered. He took care to speak naturally before the servants and his brother, but avoided to be alone with her. His back seemed strangely bent, and he walked with a listless torpor, as though his large limbs were grown suddenly too heavy to bear; his fleshy face was drawn and sallow, his eyelids puffy from want of sleep, and his eyes dim. At length Grace could stand her misery no longer; she went to the library, where she knew he was alone, and softly opened the door. He sat at the table with Blue-Books and paper spread in front of him, striving industriously to fit himself for the duties which he took so seriously; but he did not read: he rested his face on his hands, staring straight in front of him. He started when his wife entered, and looked at her with harassed eyes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Paul, but we can’t go on much longer in this way. I want to know what you’re going to do.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I wish to do my duty.”
“I suppose you’re going to divorce me.”
He gave a groan, and pushing back his chair, stood up.
“Oh, Grace, Grace, why did you do it? You know how I worshipped you; I would have given my life to save you a moment’s uneasiness. I trusted you with all my soul.”
“Yes, I know all that, I’ve repeated it to myself a thousand times.”
He looked at her so helplessly that she could not restrain her pity.
“Would you like me to go away? Your mother can easily come down to you, and you can talk it over with her.”
“You know what she’d advise me to do,” he cried.