Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/471

Rh “We can’t go on like this, Lettie, can we?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she answered him, “Yes; why not?”

“It can’t!” he said, “It can’t, I couldn’t keep it up, Lettie.”

“But don’t think about it,” she answered. “Don’t think of it.”

“Lettie,” he said. “I have to set my teeth with loneliness.”

“Hush!” she said. “No! There are the children. Don’t say anything—do not be serious, will you?”

“No, there are the children,” he replied, smiling dimly.

“Yes! Hush now! Stand up and look what a fine parting I have made in your hair. Stand up, and see if my style becomes you.”

“It is no good, Lettie,” he said, “we can’t go on.”

“Oh, but come, come, come!” she exclaimed. “We are not talking about going on; we are considering what a fine parting I have made you down the middle, like two wings of a spread bird——” she looked down, smiling playfully on him, just closing her eyes slightly in petition.

He rose and took a deep breath, and set his shoulders.

“No,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, Lettie went pale and also stiffened herself.

“No!” he repeated. “It is impossible. I felt as soon as Fred came into the room—it must be one way or another.”

“Very well then,” said Lettie, coldly. Her voice was “muted” like a violin.