“It is too—­too senseless!” he breathed, stumbling to his feet as the vague, scarcely formulated horror of it suddenly turned keen and bit into him as he began to realise for the first time something of what it threatened.

“What is it, Garry?” she asked in gentle concern, as he stood looking darkly at her.  “Is it time to go?  You are tired, I know.”  She rose and opened the great glass doors.  “You poor tired boy,” she whispered, waiting for him.  And as he did not stir:  “What is the matter, Garry?”

“Nothing.  I am trying to understand that our winter is ended.”

She nodded.  “Mother and Gray and Cecile and I go North in April....  I wish we might stay through May—­that is, if you—­” She looked at him in silent consternation.  “Where will you be!”

He said in a sullen voice:  “That is what I was thinking of—­our separation....  Do you realise that it is almost here?”

“No,” she said faintly, “I cannot.”

He moved forward, opening the glass doors wider; she laid one hand on his arm as though to guide herself; but the eastern corridors were bright with moonlight, every corner illuminated.

They were very silent until they turned into the south corridor and reached her door; and there he suddenly gave way to his passionate resentment, breaking out like a spoiled boy: 

“Shiela, I tell you it’s going to be unendurable!  There must be some way out, some chance for us....  I don’t mean to ask you to do what is—­what you consider dishonourable.  You wouldn’t do it anyway, whether or not I asked you—­”

“But don’t ask me,” she said, turning very white.  “I don’t know what I am capable of if I should ever see you suffer!”

“You couldn’t do it!” he repeated; “it isn’t in you to take your happiness at their expense, is it?  You say you know how they would feel; I don’t.  But if you’re asking for an annulment—­”

“What?  Do you mean divorce?”

“No....  That is—­different—­”

“But what—­”

“You dear,” he said, suddenly gentle, “you have never been a—­wife; and you don’t know it.”

“Garry, are you mad?”

“Shiela, dear, some day will you very quietly ask some woman the difference between divorce and annulment?”

“Y-yes, if you wish....  Is it something you mayn’t tell me, Garry?”

“Yes....  I don’t know!  You sometimes make me feel as though I could tell you anything....  Of course I couldn’t ... you darling!” He stepped nearer.  “You are so good and sweet, so utterly beyond evil, or the vaguest thought of it—­”

“Garry—­I am not!  And you know it!”

He only laughed at her.

“You don’t think I am a horrid sort of saint, do you?”

“No, not the horrid sort—­”

“Garry!  How can you say such things when I’m half ready now to run away with you!”

The sudden hint of fire in her face and voice, and something new in her eyes, sobered him.