‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Here he was hotly pursued. ” He said. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. There is nothing but your pride which stands between us. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living.
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