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He
felt
in
her
hand
the
same
tremor
he
had
seen
in
her
face
.
“
But
it
’
s
you
,
on
the
contrary
—
”
he
began
,
lifting
the
hand
to
his
lips
.
As
he
dropped
it
,
and
their
eyes
met
,
something
passed
through
hers
that
was
like
a
light
carried
rapidly
behind
a
curtained
window
.
“
Good
night
;
you
must
be
awfully
tired
,
”
he
said
with
a
friendly
abruptness
,
turning
away
without
even
waiting
to
see
her
pass
into
her
room
.
He
unlocked
his
door
,
and
stumbling
over
the
threshold
groped
in
the
darkness
for
the
electric
button
.
The
light
showed
him
a
telegram
on
the
table
,
and
he
forgot
everything
else
as
he
caught
it
up
.
“
No
letter
from
France
,
”
the
message
read
.
It
fell
from
Darrow
’
s
hand
to
the
floor
,
and
he
dropped
into
a
chair
by
the
table
and
sat
gazing
at
the
dingy
drab
and
olive
pattern
of
the
carpet
.
She
had
not
written
,
then
;
she
had
not
written
,
and
it
was
manifest
now
that
she
did
not
mean
to
write
.
If
she
had
had
any
intention
of
explaining
her
telegram
she
would
certainly
,
within
twenty
-
four
hours
,
have
followed
it
up
by
a
letter
.
But
she
evidently
did
not
intend
to
explain
it
,
and
her
silence
could
mean
only
that
she
had
no
explanation
to
give
,
or
else
that
she
was
too
indifferent
to
be
aware
that
one
was
needed
.
Darrow
,
face
to
face
with
these
alternatives
,
felt
a
recrudescence
of
boyish
misery
.
It
was
no
longer
his
hurt
vanity
that
cried
out
.
He
told
himself
that
he
could
have
borne
an
equal
amount
of
pain
,
if
only
it
had
left
Mrs
.
Leath
’
s
image
untouched
;
but
he
could
not
bear
to
think
of
her
as
trivial
or
insincere
.
The
thought
was
so
intolerable
that
he
felt
a
blind
desire
to
punish
some
one
else
for
the
pain
it
caused
him
.
As
he
sat
moodily
staring
at
the
carpet
its
silly
intricacies
melted
into
a
blur
from
which
the
eyes
of
Mrs
.
Leath
again
looked
out
at
him
.
He
saw
the
fine
sweep
of
her
brows
,
and
the
deep
look
beneath
them
as
she
had
turned
from
him
on
their
last
evening
in
London
.
“
This
will
be
good
-
bye
,
then
,
”
she
had
said
;
and
it
occurred
to
him
that
her
parting
phrase
had
been
the
same
as
Sophy
Viner
’
s
.
At
the
thought
he
jumped
to
his
feet
and
took
down
from
its
hook
the
coat
in
which
he
had
left
Miss
Viner
’
s
letter
.
The
clock
marked
the
third
quarter
after
midnight
,
and
he
knew
it
would
make
no
difference
if
he
went
down
to
the
post
-
box
now
or
early
the
next
morning
;
but
he
wanted
to
clear
his
conscience
,
and
having
found
the
letter
he
went
to
the
door
.
A
sound
in
the
next
room
made
him
pause
.
He
had
become
conscious
again
that
,
a
few
feet
off
,
on
the
other
side
of
a
thin
partition
,
a
small
keen
flame
of
life
was
quivering
and
agitating
the
air
.
Sophy
’
s
face
came
back
to
him
insistently
.
It
was
as
vivid
now
as
Mrs
.
