in agony--in that cold, green-clad shadowed porch is haven and
sanctuary....But beyond--O God, beyond!'

Sheila stood listening with startled eyes. 'And was all that in
Quain?' she inquired rather flutteringly.

Lawford turned a sidelong head, and looked steadily at his wife.

She shook herself, with a slight shiver. 'Very well, then,' she
said and paused in the silence.

Her husband yawned, and smiled, and almost as if lit with that
thin last sunshine seemed the smile that passed for an instant
across the reverie of his shadowy face. He drew a hand wearily
over his eyes. 'What has he been saying now?' he inquired like a
fretful child.

Sheila stood very quiet and still, as if in fear of scaring some
rare, wild, timid creature by the least stir. 'Who?' she
merely breathed.

Lawford paused on the hearth-rug with his comb in his hand. 'It's
just the last rags of that beastly influenza,' he said, and began
vigorously combing his hair. And yet, simple and frank though the
action was, it moved Sheila, perhaps, more than any other of the
congested occurrences of the last few days. Her forehead grew
suddenly cold, the palms of her hands began to ache, she had to
hasten out of the room to avoid revealing the sheer physical
repulsion she had experienced.