By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. He looked down and met them. “Dear husband,” she murmured. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. It’s no good. He seemed happy with her, finding her proper and seemly. Finding all attempts at conversation with his companion in misfortune in vain, Wood, in order to distract his thoughts, looked up at the gigantic structure standing, like a wall of solid darkness, before him. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone.
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