'Yes,' said her husband, 'what! I think I'll be getting to bed
again, Sheila; I forgot I had been ill. And now I do really feel
very tired. But I should like to feel--in spite of this hideous--
I should like to feel we are friends, Sheila.'

Sheila almost imperceptibly shuddered, crossed the room, and
faced the still, almost lifeless mask. 'I spoke,' she said, in a
low, cold, difficult voice--'I spoke in a temper this morning.
You must try to understand what a shock it has been to me. Now, I
own it frankly, I know you are--Arthur. But God only knows how it
frightens me, and--and--horrifies me.' She shut her eyes beneath
her veil. They waited on in silence a while.

'Poor boy!' she said at last, lightly touching the loose sleeve;
'be brave; it will all come right, soon. Meanwhile, for Alice's
sake, if not for mine, don't give way to--to caprices, and all
that. Keep quietly here, Arthur. And--and forgive my impatience.'

He put out his hand as if to touch her. 'Forgive you!' he said
humbly, pushing it stubbornly back into his pocket again. 'Oh,
Sheila, the forgiveness is all on your side. You know I have
nothing to forgive.' A long silence fell between them.

'Then, to-night,' at last began Sheila wearily, drawing back, 'we
say nothing to Alice, except that you are too tired--just nervous
prostration--to see her. What we should do without this
influenza, I cannot conceive. Mr Bethany will probably look in on
his way home; and then we can talk it over--we can talk it over
again. So long as you are like this, yourself, in mind, why I--
What is it now?' she broke off querulously.