Somebody was sitting writing at the table in the window.  His head was bent low over his hands, so that she could not see it well; but at the first sight of his back and shoulders she thought it was Tyson.

It was Stanistreet.

He turned and started when he saw her.

“Forgive me,” said he, “I—­I’m leaving to-morrow, and I was just writing a note to you.  I was going—­I did not expect to see you—­they told me-”

His manner was nervous and confused and he broke off suddenly.  She sat down in the chair he had just left, and took off her gloves and her hat.  She leaned her elbow on the table and her head upon her hand.  “Don’t go,” she said.  “I only came in here to get away—­to think.  I was afraid of being talked to.  But I’d rather you didn’t go.”  She looked away from him.  “Have you heard from Nevill?”

“No.”

“Do you think he’s ill?”

“He wasn’t ill when I saw him on Sunday.”

“Then I wonder why he keeps away.  You don’t know, do you?”

“I do not.  And I don’t want to talk about him.”

“No more do I!” she said fiercely.  “I told him—­and he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care!”

Her lips shook; her breast heaved; she hid her face in her hands.

“Oh, Louis, Louis, he’s dead!  And I said I didn’t want to see him ever again!”

His hand was on the arm of her chair.  “I’m so sorry,” he said below his breath, guarding his tongue.

She had clutched his hand and dragged herself to her feet.  She was clinging to him almost, crying her heart out.

“I know,” she said at last, “I know you care.”

He trembled violently.  In another minute he would have drawn her to him; he would have said the stupid, unutterable word.  The thing had passed beyond his control.  It had not happened by his will.  She was Tyson’s wife.  Yes; and this was the third time he had been thrust into Tyson’s place.  Why was he always to be with or near this woman in these moments, in the throes of her mortal agony, in the divine passion of her motherhood, and now—?

Did she know?  Did she know?  She stopped crying suddenly, like a startled child.  She looked down at the hand she held and frowned at it, as if it puzzled her.

The door opened.  She loosed her hold and went from him, brushing past the astonished Pinker in her flight.

CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN OF ODYSSEUS

Tyson returned by the end of the following week.  He found his wife in the big hall.  She was standing by the fireplace, with one foot on the curbstone of the hearth, the other lifted a little to the blaze.  Her arms lay along the chimney-piece, her head drooped over them.  Her back was towards him as he came in, and she did not turn at the sound of his footsteps.  He went up to her, put his arm round her waist and led her gently into the library.  She had started violently at his touch, but she made no resistance.  He meant to kiss and comfort her.