left the bewilderment of a mysterious terror.  Her face was streaming with water and tears; there was a wisp of hair on her forehead, another stuck to her cheek; her hat was on one side, undecorously tilted; her soaked veil resembled a sordid rag festooning her forehead.  There was an utter unreserve in her aspect, an abandonment of safeguards, that ugliness of truth which can only be kept out of daily life by unremitting care for appearances.  He did not know why, looking at her, he thought suddenly of to-morrow, and why the thought called out a deep feeling of unutterable, discouraged weariness—­a fear of facing the succession of days.  To-morrow!  It was as far as yesterday.  Ages elapsed between sunrises—­sometimes.  He scanned her features like one looks at a forgotten country.  They were not distorted—­he recognized landmarks, so to speak; but it was only a resemblance that he could see, not the woman of yesterday—­or was it, perhaps, more than the woman of yesterday?  Who could tell?  Was it something new?  A new expression—­or a new shade of expression? or something deep—­an old truth unveiled, a fundamental and hidden truth—­some unnecessary, accursed certitude?  He became aware that he was trembling very much, that he had an empty tumbler in his hand—­that time was passing.  Still looking at her with lingering mistrust he reached towards the table to put the glass down and was startled to feel it apparently go through the wood.  He had missed the edge.  The surprise, the slight jingling noise of the accident annoyed him beyond expression.  He turned to her irritated.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, grimly.

She passed her hand over her face and made an attempt to get up.

“You’re not going to be absurd again,” he said. “’Pon my soul, I did not know you could forget yourself to that extent.”  He didn’t try to conceal his physical disgust, because he believed it to be a purely moral reprobation of every unreserve, of anything in the nature of a scene.  “I assure you—­it was revolting,” he went on.  He stared for a moment at her.  “Positively degrading,” he added with insistence.

She stood up quickly as if moved by a spring and tottered.  He started forward instinctively.  She caught hold of the back of the chair and steadied herself.  This arrested him, and they faced each other wide-eyed, uncertain, and yet coming back slowly to the reality of things with relief and wonder, as though just awakened after tossing through a long night of fevered dreams.

“Pray, don’t begin again,” he said, hurriedly, seeing her open her lips.  “I deserve some little consideration—­and such unaccountable behaviour is painful to me.  I expect better things. . . .  I have the right. . . .”

She pressed both her hands to her temples.

“Oh, nonsense!” he said, sharply.  “You are perfectly capable of coming down to dinner.  No one should even suspect; not even the servants.  No one!  No one! . . .  I am sure you can.”