Did women never tire? Did they want one man forever and ever, and him all the time? Why was it that love didn’t sift down to a comfortable level in their lives, as it did with men, one with work, play, sleep, and the other rewards of normal existence? Early or late, there was always the conflict. Men brought to marriage a full awakened appetite, to which in some cases their wives were passive for so long that the period when their separate natures corresponded was short indeed. This period had come about when his passion was at its peak and hers was beginning to awaken to a matching intensity. Looking back on this, he thought of it ruefully as the happiest time of his life, the completest, the best. But even the best loses something of its delight when it lasts too long. In any case, it hadn’t lasted. His passion had slackened while hers increased. What had it turned into, on his part? A love more real in its way than the other, though needing less expression? Or was less than the best, nothing?

But this was casuistry. In all honesty he felt the justice of what had happened and was completely undone by it, unable to see any possible way out of a dilemma which had been so plainly stated at last. He faced the inevitable and dreadful fact that whatever he did from now on would be wrong. His every move and motive would henceforth be suspect.

“Shall we go up, Mama?” a man’s voice asked with quiet urgency from the swing.

“Any time, darling,” answered a sleepy contented woman.

Appalled to discover who was sitting so near him in the dark, John Grandin was on his feet in an instant; a second or two later he had not only quitted the porch but traversed the little lighted lobby and gained the second floor.

He stood for a long moment outside the bedroom door, in the corridor, composing himself. The raffia-­like matting at his feet, scuffed up, spoke of his hasty exit half an hour ago. He straightened it with his foot. There was no sound from within. At length he opened the door. The room was dark.

He felt his way in, found the edge of the bed where he had sat before, and undressed, dropping his clothes noiselessly to the floor. He hadn’t unpacked his pajamas but to hell with that now. He pulled back the covers of his bed and got in. The sheets were cool and comforting to his body. He lay on his back, his palms under his head. The room was stuffy. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark he saw that the shades had not been pulled up.