white.  His face was extraordinarily drawn, and his eyes were weary from lack of sleep.  But what most struck her was the change in his expression.  The look of pain which she had seen on his face that last evening in the studio was now become settled, so that it altered the lines of his countenance.  It was harrowing to look at him.  He was more silent than ever, and when he spoke it was in a strange low voice that seemed to come from a long way off.  To be with him made Susie curiously uneasy, for there was a strenuousness in him which deprived his manner of all repose.  One of the things that had pleased her in him formerly was the tranquillity which gave one the impression that here was a man who could be relied on in difficulties.  At first she could not understand exactly what had happened, but in a moment saw that he was making an unceasing effort at self-control.  He was never free from suffering and he was constantly on the alert to prevent anyone from seeing it.  The strain gave him a peculiar restlessness.

But he was gentler than he had ever been before.  He seemed genuinely glad to see her and asked about her travels with interest.  Susie led him to talk of himself, and he spoke willingly enough of his daily round.  He was earning a good deal of money, and his professional reputation was making steady progress.  He worked hard.  Besides his duties at the two hospitals with which he was now connected, his teaching, and his private practice, he had read of late one or two papers before scientific bodies, and was editing a large work on surgery.

‘How on earth can you find time to do so much?’ asked Susie.

‘I can do with less sleep than I used,’ he answered.  ’It almost doubles my working-day.’

He stopped abruptly and looked down.  His remark had given accidentally some hint at the inner life which he was striving to conceal.  Susie knew that her suspicion was well-founded.  She thought of the long hours he lay awake, trying in vain to drive from his mind the agony that tortured him, and the short intervals of troubled sleep.  She knew that he delayed as long as possible the fatal moment of going to bed, and welcomed the first light of day, which gave him an excuse for getting up.  And because he knew that he had divulged the truth he was embarrassed.  They sat in awkward silence.  To Susie, the tragic figure in front of her was singularly impressive amid that lighthearted throng:  all about them happy persons were enjoying the good things of life, talking, laughing, and making merry.  She wondered what refinement of self-torture had driven him to choose that place to come to.  He must hate it.

When they finished luncheon, Susie took her courage in both hands.

‘Won’t you come back to my rooms for half an hour?  We can’t talk here.’

He made an instinctive motion of withdrawal, as though he sought to escape.  He did not answer immediately, and she insisted.