He spoke to her once or
twice on the way, but she was only able to answer confusedly, in a
voice that was rendered strident by the great effort she had to make to
control it. He busied himself with some papers for a few minutes when
they reached his room, to give her time to recover herself, and then he
said, standing with his back to the fireplace, looking down at her, and
speaking in a tone that was even more musical and caressing than she
remembered it: "Well, and how are you? And how has it been with you
since your return?"
"I am utterly shaken and unnerved, as you see," she answered; then
added passionately: "I cannot bear my life; it is too hateful."
"There is no need to bear it," he said. "Nothing is easier than to get
a separation after what has occurred. Was there any witness?"
"No; and I don't think any one in the house suspects that there is
anything wrong. And none of my friends know. I have never told them. I
wonder why I told you?"
"You wanted me to help you," he suggested.
"I don't think I did," she said. "How could I want you to help me when
I don't mean to do anything? I fancy I told you because I was afraid
you would think me a little mad that day, and I would rather you knew
the truth than think me mad.
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