A week later, Julia, who had gone to bed early, woke up suddenly at midnight. For a moment she lay wondering what had awakened¹ her, used as she was to the long unbroken sleep of youth. She became conscious of a steady rhythmical² sound in the next room, quite different from the prosaic³ music to which she was accustomed. When she realized that it was her husband pacing back and forth⁴, back and forth, like a captured beast of the forest, she trembled for a moment, then invoked⁵ her nerve, slipped on a dressing-gown, and opened the door.

The lights were blazing. France, his coat off, his hair on end, was pacing up the room as she entered, and when he reached the wall, he flung his hands against it as if to push it outward. Then he turned and saw his wife. His eyes were bloodshot.

“Go back to bed,” he said thickly. “I don’t want you.”

“What do you want?” Julia walked toward him, fear lost in her curiosity. “What is the matter, Harold? Are you ill? If you are, I must take care of you.”

He stared at her for a moment. There were times when he hated her, others when he was quite mad about her; during the intervals⁶ of varying length he did not think about her at all. To-night he suddenly experienced a new sensation. He needed a friend badly, and it was her business to fill any office he chose to impose upon her.

“Look here,” he said. “Would you do me a good turn?”

“Why, of course.”

“And use all the brains you’ve got and hold your tongue?”

“Try me.”

“Think you could fool Kingsborough?”

“Oh, quite easily.”

“Well, it’s this: I’ve got to get away for a time—out of this. I ain’t a child, ain’t used to walkin’ a straight line. Never had so many rules to live by since I was a small boy. Navy was nothin’ to it—and two years! Two years—” He clutched his hair with both hands and shouted: “I’ve got to get away for a bit! Do you hear? Got to get away! Ain’t used?—”

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