"It's I--Monty," said a voice.
Clutching the bed-rail, Winifred reached up and turned the switch of the
light hanging above her dressing-table. He appeared just on the rim
of the light's circumference, emblazoned from the absence of his
watch-chain down to boots neat and sooty brown, but--yes!--split at the
toecap. His chest and face were shadowy. Surely he was thin--or was it a
trick of the light? He advanced, lighted now from toe-cap to the top of
his dark head--surely a little grizzled! His complexion had darkened,
sallowed; his black moustache had lost boldness, become sardonic; there
were lines which she did not know about his face. There was no pin in
his tie. His suit--ah!--she knew that--but how unpressed, unglossy! She
stared again at the toe-cap of his boot. Something big and relentless
had been 'at him,' had turned and twisted, raked and scraped him. And
she stayed, not speaking, motionless, staring at that crack across the
toe.
"Well!" he said, "I got the order. I'm back."
Winifred's bosom began to heave. The nostalgia for her husband which had
rushed up with that scent was struggling with a deeper jealousy than any
she had felt yet. There he was--a dark, and as if harried, shadow of
his sleek and brazen self! What force had done this to him--squeezed him
like an orange to its dry rind! That woman!
"I'm back," he said again. "I've had a beastly time. By God! I came
steerage. I've got nothing but what I stand up in, and that bag."
"And who has the rest?" cried Winifred, suddenly alive. "How dared you
come? You knew it was just for divorce that you got that order to come
back. Don't touch me!"
They held each to the rail of the big bed where they had spent so many
years of nights together. Many times, yes--many times she had wanted him
back. But now that he had come she was filled with this cold and deadly
resentment. He put his hand up to his moustache; but did not frizz and
twist it in the old familiar way, he just pulled it downwards.
"Gad!" he said: "If you knew the time I've had!"
"I'm glad I don't!"
"Are the kids all right?"
Winifred nodded. "How did you get in?"
"With my key."
"Then the maids don't know. You can't stay here, Monty."
He uttered a little sardonic laugh.
"Where then?"
"Anywhere."
"Well, look at me! That--that damned...."
"If you mention her," cried Winifred, "I go straight out to Park Lane
and I don't come back."
Suddenly he did a simple thing, but so uncharacteristic that it moved
her. He shut his eyes. It was as if he had said: 'All right! I'm dead to
the world!'