When he was alone he sat lost in thought. At last he rang for a bell boy. And when the boy came, he said: "That door there"--indicating one in the opposite wall of the sitting room--"what does it lead into?"
"Another bedroom, sir."
"Unlock it, and tell them at the office I wish that room added to my suite."
As soon as the additional bedroom was at his dis-posal, he went in and began to undress. When he had taken off coat and waistcoat he paused to telephone to the office a call for eight o'clock. As he finished and hung up the receiver, a sound from the direction of the sitting room made him glance in there. On the threshold of the other bedroom stood his wife. She was in her nightgown; her hair, done in a single thick braid, hung down across her bosom. There was in the room and upon her childish loveliness the strange commingling of lights and shadows that falls when the electricity is still on and the early morning light is pushing in at the windows. They looked at each other in silence for some time. If she was frightened or in the least embarrassed she did not show it. She simply looked at him, while ever so slowly a smile dawned--a gleam in the eyes, a flutter round the lips, growing merrier and merrier. He did not smile. He continued to regard her gravely.
"I heard you and Mr. Tetlow come in," she said.
"Then--you talked so long--I fell asleep again. I only this minute awakened."
"Well, now you can go to sleep again," said he.
"But I'm not a bit sleepy. What are you doing in that room ?"
She advanced toward his door. He stood aside.
She peeped in. She was so close to him that her nightgown brushed the bosom of his shirt. "Another bedroom!" she exclaimed. "Just like ours."
"I didn't wish to disturb you," said he, calm and grave.
"But you wouldn't have been disturbing me," protested she, leaning against the door frame, less than two feet away and directly facing him.
"I'll stay on here," said he.
She gazed at him with great puzzled eyes. "Aren't you glad I'm back?" she asked.
"Certainly," said he with a polite smile. "But I must get some sleep." And he moved away.
"You must let me tell you how I happened to go and why I came----"
"Please," he interrupted, looking at her with a piercing though not in the least unfriendly expression that made her grow suddenly pale and thoughtful. "I do not wish to hear about it--not now--not ever. Tetlow told me all that it's necessary for me to know.
You have come to stay, I assume?"
"Yes--if"--her lip quivered--"if you'll let me."
"There can be no question of that," said he with the same polite gravity he had maintained throughout.
"You want me to leave you alone?"
"Please. I need sleep badly--and I've only three hours."
"You are--angry with me?"
He looked placidly into her lovely, swimming eyes.
"Not in the least."
"But how can you help being? I acted dreadfully."
He smiled gently. "But you are back--and the incident is closed."
She looked down at the carpet, her fingers playing with her braid, twisting and untwisting its strands. He stood waiting to close the door. She said, without lifting her eyes--said in a quiet, expressionless way, "I have killed your love?"
"I'll not trouble you any more," evaded he. And he laid his hand significantly upon the knob.
"I don't understand," she murmured. Then, with a quick apologetic glance at him, "But I'm very inconsiderate. You want to sleep. Good night."
"Good night," said he, beginning to close the door.
She impulsively stood close before him, lifted her small white face, as if for a kiss. "Do you forgive me?" she asked. "I was foolish. I didn't understand --till I went back. Then--nothing was the same. And I knew I wasn't fitted for that life--and didn't really care for him--and----"
He kissed her on the brow. "Don't agitate yourself," said he. "And we will never speak of this again."
She shrank as if he had struck her. Her head drooped, and her shoulders. When she was clear of the door, he quietly closed it.
