Of all the emotions which kept me awake that night, a vaguediscomfort and a feeling of resentment against Fate more thanagainst any individual, were the two that remained with me nextmorning. Astonishment does not last. The fact of Audrey and myselfbeing under the same roof after all these years had ceased toamaze me. It was a minor point, and my mind shelved it in order todeal with the one thing that really mattered, the fact that shehad come back into my life just when I had definitely, as Ithought, put her out of it.

　　My resentment deepened. Fate had played me a wanton trick. Cynthiatrusted me. If I were weak, I should not be the only one tosuffer. And something told me that I should be weak. How could Ihope to be strong, tortured by the thousand memories which thesight of her would bring back to me?

　　But I would fight, I told myself. I would not yield easily. Ipromised that to my self-respect, and was rewarded with a certainglow of excitement. I felt defiant. I wanted to test myself atonce.

　　My opportunity came after breakfast. She was standing on thegravel in front of the house, almost, in fact, on the spot wherewe had met the night before. She looked up as she heard my step,and I saw that her chin had that determined tilt which, in thedays of our engagement, I had noticed often without attaching anyparticular significance to it. Heavens, what a ghastly lump ofcomplacency I must have been in those days! A child, I thought, ifhe were not wrapped up in the contemplation of his own magnificence,could read its meaning.

　　It meant war, and I was glad of it. I wanted war.

　　'Good morning,' I said.

　　'Good morning.'

　　There was a pause. I took the opportunity to collect my thoughts.

　　I looked at her curiously. Five years had left their mark on her,but entirely for the good. She had an air of quiet strength whichI had never noticed in her before. It may have been there in theold days, but I did not think so. It was, I felt certain, a laterdevelopment. She gave the impression of having been through muchand of being sure of herself.

　　In appearance she had changed amazingly little. She looked assmall and slight and trim as ever she had done. She was a littlepaler, I thought, and the Irish eyes were older and a shadeharder; but that was all.

　　I awoke with a start to the fact that I was staring at her. Aslight flush had crept into her pale cheeks.

　　'Don't!' she said suddenly, with a little gesture of irritation.

　　The word and the gesture killed, as if they had been a blow, akind of sentimental tenderness which had been stealing over me.

　　'What are you doing here?' I asked.

　　She was silent.

　　'Please don't think I want to pry into your affairs,' I saidviciously. 'I was only interested in the coincidence that weshould meet here like this.'

　　She turned to me impulsively. Her face had lost its hard look.