He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. In this state of knowledge you will be horribly, irrevocably, alone. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, is apt to ennoble—or explain away. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
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