talking about Mina Raff. She wouldn't attract him, Lee Randon, in the
least, he was sure of that ... no wistful April moon. What, then, did
engage him? He was unable to say, he didn't know. It was something
intangible, a charm without definite form; and his thoughts returned to
Cytherea--if he could grasp the secret of her fascination he would be
able to settle a great many disturbing feelings and needs. Yes, what
she mutely expressed was what, beneath his comprehension, he had come
to long for. He had never recognized it as the property of any woman
nor satisfied it in himself.

Here, certainly, his loyalty, his affection for Fanny, weren't damaged;
he was, he thought, beyond assault there. It was only that, together
with his fidelity to his wife, an increasing uneasiness possessed him,
an unabated separate interest in life, in women. He was searching for
something essential, he couldn't discover what; but, dismissing the
problem of how he'd act if he found it, the profound conviction
remained that when his hopeful quest was over then indeed he'd be old,
finished, drained. Lee Randon secretly cherished, jealously guarded,
that restless, vital reaching for the indefinable perfection of his
hidden desire. For a flash it was almost perceptible in Anette, her
head half-buried in the darkness of the divan behind the rise and fall
of her breasts in a close sweater of Jaeger wool.

* * * * *

She stirred, smiled at him absently, and, with Peyton's assistance,
rose. The long room, unlighted except for the fire, was lost in
obscurity; the blackness against the window-panes was absolute.
Outside, however, Lee found a lingering glint of day; the snow had
stopped, but the wind had increased and was blowing over the open