can be very blind.

John, too--but with John it was different. John had given his
warning. If the warning were to be justified he could not blame
John. He could not blame anyone save his own too confident self.
Why, oh why, had he been so sure? Had he not known that love is the
most unaccountable of all the passions? How had he dared to build
security on that subtle thing within himself which, without cause or
reason, had claimed as his the unstirred heart of the girl he had
married.

Spence returned home with lagging step. The old distaste for
familiar things, which he thought had gone with the coming of
Desire, was heavy upon him. The gate of his pleasant home shut
behind him like a prison gate. In short, Benis Spence paid for a
moment's enlightenment with a bad day and a night that was no
better.

By the morning he had won through. One must carry on. And the
advantage of a quiet manner is that no one notices when it grows
more quiet.

Desire was already in the library when he entered it. She looked
very crisp and cool. It struck Spence for the first time that she
was dressing her part--the neat, dark skirt and laundered blouse,
blackbowed at the neck in a perfect orgy of simplicity, were
eminently secretarial. How beautifully young she was!

Desire looked up from her note-book with business-like promptitude.