‘“Marry again”!’ exclaimed incredulously the full lips in the looking-glass. ‘Who?’
‘You, dear!’
Sheila turned softly round, conscious in a most humiliating manner that she had ever so little flushed.
Her husband was pouring out his tea, unaware, apparently, of her change of position. She watched him curiously. In spite of all her reason, of her absolute certainty, she wondered even again for a moment if this really could be Arthur. And for the first time she realised the power and mastery of that eager and far too hungry face. Her mind seemed to pause, fluttering in air, like a bird in the wind. She hastened rather unsteadily to the door.
‘Will you want anything more, do you think, for an hour?’ she asked.
Her husband looked up over his little table. ‘Is Alice going with you?’
‘Oh yes; poor child, she looks so pale and miserable. We are going to Mrs Sherwin’s, and then on to Church. You will lock your door?’
‘Yes, I will lock my door.’
‘And I do hope Arthur—nothing rash!’
A change, that seemed almost the effect of actual shadow, came over his face. ‘I wish you could stay with me,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t think you have any idea what—what I go through.’