I could not at first understand this, but after a while I began to see
that we two had reached the point beyond which it was impossible to go
without encountering the most tremendous fact of our lives--my marriage
and all that was involved by it.
During dinner we spoke very little. He seemed intentionally not to look
at me. The warm glances of his sea-blue eyes, which all the afternoon
had been making the colour mount to my cheeks, had gone, and it sent a
cold chill to my heart to look across the table at his clouded face. But
sometimes when he thought my own face was down I was conscious that his
eyes were fixed on me with a questioning, almost an imploring gaze. His
nervousness communicated itself to me. It was almost as if we had begun
to be afraid of each other and were hovering on the brink of fatal
revelations.
When dinner was over, the table cleared and the servants gone, I could
bear the strain no longer, so making excuse of a letter I had to write
to the Reverend Mother I sat down at my desk, whereupon Martin lit a
cigar and said he would stroll over the headland.
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