And she understood in that instant that the
look his face wore was the look of those who have failed in their vocation.
And at that very moment he was wondering if he really loved her, if his
marriage were a mistake. The passion he had felt when walking with her on
the wet country road he felt no longer, only an undefinable sadness and a
weariness which he could not understand. He looked at his wife, and fearing
that she divined his thoughts, he kissed her. She returned his kiss coldly
and he wondered if she loved him. He thought that it was improbable that
she did. Why should she love him? He had never loved any one. He had never
inspired love in any one, except perhaps Emily.
'I wonder if you really wished to be married,' she said.
'I always wished to be married,' he replied. 'I hated the Bohemianism I was
forced to live in. I longed for a home, for a wife.'
'You were very poor once?'
'Yes: I've lived on tenpence and a shilling a day. I've worked in the docks
as a labourer. I went down there hoping to get a clerkship on board one of
the Transatlantic steamers. I had had enough of England, and thought of
seeking fortune elsewhere.'
'I can hardly believe you worked as a labourer in the docks.
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