In a few words, all life seemed to him to have reduced itself to the
question, "How could she?" As yet he had not got further than this, and
it did not occur to him to wonder whether or no her mental attitude was
definite or only temporary. "How could she? How could she so rend him?
Of what was her heart made that it could allow her so to wound his?"
When he reached home the incomprehensibility of this problem was fast
outweighing his anger, and Felicite, who came in as he stood in the
middle of the room brushing his hair, smiled at the misery in his face.
"So she was cruel, the little one?" she asked gently, sitting down and
folding her hands in her characteristic way.
"She was--abominable. But how did you know?"
"I found her in tears. You must be gentle with her, my man."
He stared. "Gentle? But she is a demon when she is angry. Tell me to be
gentle with an enraged lioness."
Felicite's smile was good to see. "She is not an enraged lioness,
Victor. She is--very unhappy, and we must help her."
He went to the dressing-table and put down his brushes. "I am tired,
wife," he said quietly; "let us talk of something else. Besides, it is
nearly half-past eight.
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