Then they kissed and made up, terrified at the abyss which had yawned between them; and when the moment came, Phoebe went through the parting bravely.
But when Fenwick had gone, and the young wife sat alone beside the cottage fire, the January darkness outside seemed to her the natural symbol of her own bitter foreboding.

Why had he left her?
There was no reason in it, as she had said.

But there must be some reason behind it.

And slowly, in the firelight, she fell to brooding over the image of that pale classical face, as she had seen it in the sketch-book.
John had talked quite frankly about Madame de Pastourelles--not like a man beguiled; making no mystery of her at all, answering all questions.

But his restlessness to get back to London had been extraordinary.