“Yes?”
“Was I wrong to come in? Do you want to be alone? Tell me frankly and I will go.”
“No; stay,” replied Clytie slowly, without turning her head. “I wanted you to come. I don't know why. How did you find out I was here?”
“Mrs. Gurkins caught me in the passage. She said you were staying some time. I knocked at your door, but you did not answer, so I looked in, saw you asleep there. I could not resist the temptation of coming nearer so as to see your face. You look so done up, you must go to bed early and have a good night's rest.”
“Ah, Kent! How like you!” said Clytie, looking quickly round at him. Womanlike, she was pleased that he had not expressed wonderment at her presence in the house, and beset her with abrupt questions, but tried instead with delicate sympathy to put her at her ease.
“Can you guess why I am here, Kent?” she asked in a low voice.
“I dare not try,” he replied.
“I have finally parted from my husband.”
“Good God! Clytie, what do you mean?” he cried, with a leap at his heart, followed by a feeling of great pity for the woman he loved, an aching sense of the irony of things. “It has been a misunderstanding. It will all be cleared up in time,” he continued unsteadily.
Clytie shook her head.