The Painted Veil. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

was catching.

      "What a monstrous thing to say!"

      "I put it to you that you haven't been bothering much about your husband lately. Perhaps he isn't quite so much in love with you as he was."

      "At all events I shall never delude myself that you are madly in love with me," she retorted.

      "That's where you're wrong."

      Ah, how good it was to hear him say that! She knew it and her belief in his passion warmed her heart. As he spoke he rose from the bed and came and sat down beside her on the sandalwood box. He put his arm round her waist.

      "Don't worry your silly little head a moment longer," he said. "I promise you there's nothing to fear. I'm as certain as I am of anything that he's going to pretend he knows nothing. You know, this sort of thing is awfully difficult to prove. You say he's in love with you; perhaps he doesn't want to lose you altogether. I swear I'd accept anything rather than that if you were my wife."

      She leaned towards him. Her body became limp and yielding against his arm. The love she felt for him was almost torture. His last words had struck her: perhaps Walter loved her so passionately that he was prepared to accept any humiliation if sometimes she would let him love her. She could understand that; for that was how she felt towards Charlie. A thrill of pride passed through her, and at the same time a faint sensation of contempt for a man who could love so slavishly.

      She put her arm lovingly round Charlie's neck.

      "You're simply wonderful. I was shaking like a leaf when I came here and you've made everything all right."

      He took her face in his hand and kissed her lips.

      "Darling."

      "You're such a comfort to me," she sighed.

      "I'm sure you need not be nervous. And you know I'll stand by you. I won't let you down."

      She put away her fears, but for an instant unreasonably she regretted that her plans for the future were shattered. Now that all danger was past she almost wished that Walter were going to insist on a divorce.

      "I knew I could count on you," she said.

      "So I should hope."

      "Oughtn't you to go and have your tiffin?"

      "Oh, damn my tiffin."

      He drew her more closely to him and now she was held tight in his arms. His mouth sought hers.

      "Oh, Charlie, you must let me go."

      "Never."

      She gave a little laugh, a laugh of happy love and of triumph; his eyes were heavy with desire. He lifted her to her feet and not letting her go but holding her close to his breast he locked the door.