He could scarcely sit still on the chair by my bedside.
I told him of Cliffe's suspicions.

We were a pair of conspirators with unavowable things on our minds which were driving us to nervous catastrophe.

Edith, said I, was more suspicious even than Cliffe.

I also told him of our talk about the projected dinner party.
"That," he declared, "would drive me stark, staring mad." "So will continuing to hide the truth from Edith," said I."How do you suppose you can carry on like this ?" He grew angry.

How could he tell Edith?
How could he make her understand his reason for welcoming Boyce?
How could he prevent her from blazing the truth abroad and crying aloud for vengeance?
What kind of a fool's counsel was I giving him?
I let him talk, until, tired with reiteration, he had nothing more to say.