The sun gradually went down and the dark came into the room. The things about them grew indistinct and the shadows died. The wind came up outside and sighed around the building. They did not move. Clarinda felt the strain. Peter grew nervous and moved his feet about on the rug as if to relieve the tension. Clarinda did not move from the position which she took when she first sank upon the divan. Her hands hung listlessly by her side and her head was sunk back upon one of the big cushions. Hour after hour they sat. Peter suddenly sprang from the divan and screamed, but Clarinda did not move. She seemed not to hear him. Peter arose from his seat and paced up and down the room. His step was nervous, excited and the perspiration gathered upon his forehead. He wiped it away with his hand. His face became pale and haggard and he stumbled over the rugs. It was only with an intense effort that he saved himself from falling. In an agonized voice he spoke. He was incoherent. He spoke rapidly and his words tumbled over each other and he wiped his forehead again as he stopped in front of her.
“For God’s sake speak!” he exclaimed. “I am going mad. I can’t stand the strain. Say something! It is horrible!”
“I’ve nothing to say,” Clarinda answered quietly.
“You’re a murderess!” he said with a trembling voice. He lost control of his speech. He kept on talking but he did not know what he said. Again he wiped his forehead with his open hand. It was wet.
“Stop!” exclaimed Clarinda. “You don’t know what you say. Someone might hear you. There are servants in the house.”
“I don’t care. I shall scream it from the housetops. I want everyone to know I’ve married a murderess.” Peter sank hopelessly back upon the divan.
Clarinda put out her hand and placed it upon his arm. Her touch made him shiver. He drew away from her.
“You’re a philosopher, but you’re a liar. You teach, but you fear your own teaching. You fight and when you lose, you weep. You destroy and you give nothing in return.” Clarinda stopped and took her hand from his arm and let it hang as it had hung since she had first sat down upon coming into the house. Peter trembled under her touch and trembled more when he lost the feel of her hand upon his arm.
“Put your hand back!” he demanded. Clarinda put her hand back and her face broke into a weary smile. She even allowed herself to pity him in his fear.
“What do you fear, Peter?” she asked. “Where is your philosophy?” Her voice was full of sarcasm. “You needn’t fear me. I am not going to do you any harm. You needn’t fear for the child. I’m not going to do it any harm. That would be useless. If I should do you harm, you would be finished. You told me that when you should die you would be finished. I don’t want you to die, I want you to live. I want you to see your other woman, the kind you wanted to marry. The sort you dreamed of in your idle moments, in your office, where you built air castles and forgot the human factor.”