XVI
Feeling him abstract, withdrawn from her, Helena experienced the dread of losing him. She was in his arms, but his spirit ignored her. That was insufferable to her pride. Yet she dared not disturb him—she was afraid. Bitterly she repented her of the giving way to her revulsion a little space before. Why had she not smothered it and pretended? Why had she, a woman, betrayed herself so flagrantly? Now perhaps she had lost him for good. She was consumed with uneasiness.
At last she drew back from him, held him her mouth to kiss. As he gently, sadly kissed her she pressed him to her bosom. She must get him back, whatever else she lost. She put her hand tenderly on his brow.
“What are you thinking of?” she asked.
“I?” he replied. “I really don’t know. I suppose I was hardly thinking any thing.”
She waited a while, clinging to him, then, finding some difficulty in speech, she asked:
“Was I very cruel, dear?”
It was so unusual to hear her grieved and filled with humility that he drew her close into him.
“It was pretty bad, I suppose,” he replied. “But I should think neither of us could help it.”
She gave a little sob, pressed her face into his chest,
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