The new-comer’s voice came at last, after a pause that seemed interminable.  “Well?” he said.

“I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks,” said the man at the window, gripping the window-ledge with his hand.  His voice was unsteady.

The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow.  He made no answer to Raut’s remark.  For a moment he stood above them.

The woman’s heart was cold within her.  “I told Mr. Raut it was just possible you might come back,” she said, in a voice that never quivered.

Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her little work-table.  His big hands were clenched; one saw now the fire of his eyes under the shadow of his brows.  He was trying to get his breath.  His eyes went from the woman he had trusted to the friend he had trusted, and then back to the woman.

By this time and for the moment all three half understood one another.  Yet none dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that choked them.

It was the husband’s voice that broke the silence at last.

“You wanted to see me?” he said to Raut.

Raut started as he spoke.  “I came to see you,” he said, resolved to lie to the last.

“Yes,” said Horrocks.

“You promised,” said Raut, “to show me some fine effects of moonlight and smoke.”

“I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and smoke,” repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice.

“And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down to the works,” proceeded Raut, “and come with you.”

There was another pause.  Did the man mean to take the thing coolly?  Did he after all know?  How long had he been in the room?  Yet even at the moment when they heard the door, their attitudes. . . .  Horrocks glanced at the profile of the woman, shadowy pallid in the half-light.  Then he glanced at Raut, and seemed to recover himself suddenly.  “Of course,” he said, “I promised to show you the works under their proper dramatic conditions.  It’s odd how I could have forgotten.”

“If I am troubling you—­” began Raut.

Horrocks started again.  A new light had suddenly come into the sultry gloom of his eyes.  “Not in the least,” he said.

“Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of flame and shadow you think so splendid?” said the woman, turning now to her husband for the first time, her confidence creeping back again, her voice just one half-note too high.  “That dreadful theory of yours that machinery is beautiful, and everything else in the world ugly.  I thought he would not spare you, Mr. Raut.  It’s his great theory, his one discovery in art.”

“I am slow to make discoveries,” said Horrocks grimly, damping
her suddenly.   “But what I discover . . . . .”   He stopped.

“Well?” she said.

“Nothing;” and suddenly he rose to his feet.

“I promised to show you the works,” he said to Raut, and put his big, clumsy hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “And you are ready to go?”