If her husband had already become indifferent or preoccupied, what would he not be like when he assumed his new faculty duties next semester, giving so much of himself in conference with the individual students of the new class? And if the new book were to become a success (which of course she hoped for), his interests would be further drawn to other fields, fields in which she could not follow him, in which she had no part. She had read the manuscript and been impressed by its scholarship, but what had impressed her even more was that she did not know this man. And yet, though it was bitter proof that he lived in a world of ideas and interests far from her own, it did not seem even remotely to explain why he had lately been ignoring her so utterly.

Defensively, she had tried to become as aloof as he. As a kind of test, she had taken to going to bed without kissing him good night. She merely said “Good night” and left the room. Surprisingly, he had protested. It was unheard of; didn’t he count for anything, didn’t she want to kiss him good night—didn’t husbands and wives always, as a matter of course if for no other reason, kiss one another good night? It seemed to have become a symbol to him (as to her) of their growing estrangement; if they abandoned the good-­night kiss they might as well openly admit failure and give up. So she made it a point again of going up to him before she left the room and kissing him on the mouth. But an artificiality had crept into it which puzzled her. She felt none of the old pleasure, because of some withdrawal in him which she could not but reflect. Indeed, she experienced an involuntary impulse to draw back at the moment, or kiss him coldly as a sister or cousin, so that there was no satisfaction in it for either of them beyond the observance of the formality; and after a few nights of this, the good-night kiss was abandoned again as a failure—with what feelings on his part she would perhaps never know.