spiritual enquiry; and a singularly truthful look: She was just twenty;
and of the year that she had been married, had only spent six weeks
with her husband; they had not even a house of their own as yet. After
resting five minutes, she passed her hand vigorously over her face,
threw back her head, and walked up stairs to the room where he lay. He
was not conscious, and there was nothing to be done but sit and watch
him.

'If he dies,' she thought, 'I shall hate God for His cruelty. I have had
six weeks with George; some people have sixty years.' She fixed her eyes
on his face, short and broad, with bumps of "observation" on the brows.
He had been sunburnt. The dark lashes of his closed eyes lay on deathly
yellow cheeks; his thick hair grew rather low on his broad forehead.
The lips were just open and showed strong white teeth. He had a little
clipped moustache, and hair had grown on his clean-cut jaw. His pyjama
jacket had fallen open. Gratian drew it close. It was curiously still,
for a London day, though the window was wide open. Anything to break
this heavy stupor, which was not only George's, but her own, and the
very world's! The cruelty of it--when she might be going to lose him for
ever, in a few hours or days! She thought of their last parting. It had
not been very loving, had come too soon after one of those arguments
they were inclined to have, in which they could not as yet disagree with
suavity. George had said there was no future life for the individual;
she had maintained there was. They had grown hot and impatient. Even
in the cab on the way to his train they had pursued the wretched
discussion, and the last kiss had been from lips on lips yet warm from
disagreement.

Ever since, as if in compunction, she had been wavering towards his
point of view; and now, when he was perhaps to solve the problem--find