” “Much better,” she agreed. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. You’ll never see the light of day as long as you live. He seemed to have expected them. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. ‘My wife would say she is English a little. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. "Women are always balling up and muddling clean cases. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. The truth at once flashed across his mind.
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