"My wishes are yours," she told him faintly.

His hand was caressing her softly, very softly. Again he was silent for
a while, and into her heart there began to creep a new feeling that
made her gradually forget the immensity of her relief. She sat
motionless, save that her head drooped a little lower, ever a little
lower.

"Naomi," he said, at last, "I have been thinking a good deal lately. We
seem to have been wandering round and round in a circle. I have been
wondering if we could not by any means find a way out?"

She made a sharp, involuntary movement. What was this that he was saying
to her?

"I don't quite understand," she murmured.

His hand pressed a little upon her, and she knew that he was bending
down.

"You are not happy," he said, with grave conviction.

She could not contradict him.

"It is my own fault," she managed to say, without lifting her head.

"I do not think so," he returned, "at least, not entirely. I know that
there have frequently been times when you have regretted your marriage.
For that you were not to blame." He paused an instant. "Naomi," he said,