She seemed touched by the emotion of his voice.  Her lips quivered a little, and she made one faltering step towards him, putting out her hands in a beseeching gesture, when she perceived, just in time, that being absorbed by the tragedy of his life he had absolutely forgotten her very existence.  She stopped, and her outstretched arms fell slowly.  He, with his features distorted by the bitterness of his thought, saw neither her movement nor her gesture.  He stamped his foot in vexation, rubbed his head—­then exploded.

“What the devil am I to do now?”

He was still again.  She seemed to understand, and moved to the door firmly.

“It’s very simple—­I’m going,” she said aloud.

At the sound of her voice he gave a start of surprise, looked at her wildly, and asked in a piercing tone—­

“You. . . .  Where?  To him?”

“No—­alone—­good-bye.”

The door-handle rattled under her groping hand as though she had been trying to get out of some dark place.

“No—­stay!” he cried.

She heard him faintly.  He saw her shoulder touch the lintel of the door.  She swayed as if dazed.  There was less than a second of suspense while they both felt as if poised on the very edge of moral annihilation, ready to fall into some devouring nowhere.  Then, almost simultaneously, he shouted, “Come back!” and she let go the handle of the door.  She turned round in peaceful desperation like one who deliberately has thrown away the last chance of life; and, for a moment, the room she faced appeared terrible, and dark, and safe—­like a grave.

He said, very hoarse and abrupt:  “It can’t end like this. . . .  Sit down;” and while she crossed the room again to the low-backed chair before the dressing-table, he opened the door and put his head out to look and listen.  The house was quiet.  He came back pacified, and asked—­

“Do you speak the truth?”

She nodded.

“You have lived a lie, though,” he said, suspiciously.

“Ah!  You made it so easy,” she answered.

“You reproach me—­me!”

“How could I?” she said; “I would have you no other—­now.”

“What do you mean by . . .” he began, then checked himself, and without waiting for an answer went on, “I won’t ask any questions.  Is this letter the worst of it?”

She had a nervous movement of her hands.

“I must have a plain answer,” he said, hotly.

“Then, no!  The worst is my coming back.”

There followed a period of dead silence, during which they exchanged searching glances.

He said authoritatively—­

“You don’t know what you are saying.  Your mind is unhinged.  You are beside yourself, or you would not say such things.  You can’t control yourself.  Even in your remorse . . .”  He paused a moment, then said with a doctoral air:  “Self-restraint is everything in life, you know.  It’s happiness, it’s dignity . . . it’s everything.”