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“
Oh
,
the
theatre
!
”
She
gave
a
little
laugh
.
“
I
couldn
’
t
wait
for
the
theatre
.
I
had
to
take
the
first
thing
that
offered
;
I
took
this
.
”
He
pushed
on
haltingly
:
“
I
’
m
glad
—
extremely
glad
—
you
’
re
happy
here
.
.
.
.
I
’
d
counted
on
your
letting
me
know
if
there
was
anything
I
could
do
.
.
.
.
The
theatre
,
now
—
if
you
still
regret
it
—
if
you
’
re
not
contented
here
.
.
.
.
I
know
people
in
that
line
in
London
—
I
’
m
certain
I
can
manage
it
for
you
when
I
get
back
—
—
”
She
moved
up
to
the
table
and
leaned
over
it
to
ask
,
in
a
voice
that
was
hardly
above
a
whisper
:
“
Then
you
do
want
me
to
leave
?
Is
that
it
?
”
He
dropped
his
arms
with
a
groan
.
“
Good
heavens
!
How
can
you
think
such
things
?
At
the
time
,
you
know
,
I
begged
you
to
let
me
do
what
I
could
,
but
you
wouldn
’
t
hear
of
it
.
.
.
and
ever
since
I
’
ve
been
wanting
to
be
of
use
—
to
do
something
,
anything
,
to
help
you
.
.
.
”
She
heard
him
through
,
motionless
,
without
a
quiver
of
the
clasped
hands
she
rested
on
the
edge
of
the
table
.
“
If
you
want
to
help
me
,
then
—
you
can
help
me
to
stay
here
,
”
she
brought
out
with
low
-
toned
intensity
.
Through
the
stillness
of
the
pause
which
followed
,
the
bray
of
a
motor
-
horn
sounded
far
down
the
drive
.
Instantly
she
turned
,
with
a
last
white
look
at
him
,
and
fled
from
the
room
and
up
the
stairs
.
He
stood
motionless
,
benumbed
by
the
shock
of
her
last
words
.
She
was
afraid
,
then
—
afraid
of
him
—
sick
with
fear
of
him
!
The
discovery
beat
him
down
to
a
lower
depth
.
.
.
The
motor
-
horn
sounded
again
,
close
at
hand
,
and
he
turned
and
went
up
to
his
room
.
His
letter
-
writing
was
a
sufficient
pretext
for
not
immediately
joining
the
party
about
the
tea
-
table
,
and
he
wanted
to
be
alone
and
try
to
put
a
little
order
into
his
tumultuous
thinking
.
Upstairs
,
the
room
held
out
the
intimate
welcome
of
its
lamp
and
fire
.
Everything
in
it
exhaled
the
same
sense
of
peace
and
stability
which
,
two
evenings
before
,
had
lulled
him
to
complacent
meditation
.
