She shuddered lightly.
“He—he sort of degraded me. He wanted to bully me because he hadn’t got me. And then I felt as if I wanted to run, as if I was fastened and bound up. And he seemed dirty.”
“I see.”
He did not at all see.
“And was he always dirty?” he asked.
“A bit,” she replied slowly. “And then he seemed as if he couldn’t get at me, really. And then he got brutal—he was brutal!”
“And why did you leave him finally?”
“Because—because he was unfaithful to me——”
They were both silent for some time. Her hand lay on the gate-post as she balanced. He put his own over it. His heart beat thickly.
“But did you—were you ever—did you ever give him a chance?”
“Chance? How?”
“To come near to you.”
“I married him—and I was willing——”
They both strove to keep their voices steady.
“I believe he loves you,” he said.
“It looks like it,” she replied.
He wanted to take his hand away, and could not. She saved him by removing her own. After a silence, he began again:
“Did you leave him out of count all along?”
“He left me,” she said.
“And I suppose he couldn’t make himself mean everything to you?”
“He tried to bully me into it.”
But the conversation had got them both out of their depth. Suddenly Paul jumped down.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and get some tea.”
They found a cottage, where they sat in the cold parlour. She poured out his tea. She was very quiet. He felt she had withdrawn again from him. After tea, she stared broodingly into her teacup, twisting her wedding ring all the time. In her abstraction she took the ring off her finger, stood it up, and spun it upon the table. The gold became a diaphanous, glittering globe. It fell, and the ring was quivering upon the table. She spun it again and again, Paul watched, fascinated.
