He did not attempt to follow me. I saw in a mirror in front what was
taking place behind me.
My husband was standing where I had left him with a look first of
amazement and then of rage.
"I can't understand you," he said. "Upon my soul I can't! There isn't a
man in the world who could." After that he strode into his own bedroom
and clashed the door after him.
"Oh, what's the good?" I thought again.
It was impossible to make myself in love with my husband. It was no use
trying.
FORTY-FOURTH CHAPTER
I must leave it to those who know better than I do the way to read the
deep mysteries of a woman's heart, to explain how it came to pass that
the only result of this incident was to make me sure that if we remained
in London much longer my husband would go back to the other woman, and
to say why (seeing that I did not love him) I should have become
feverishly anxious to remove him from the range of this temptation.
Yet so it was, for the very next morning, I wrote to my father saying I
had been unwell and begging him to use his influence with my husband to
set out on the Egyptian trip without further delay.
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