...
David set his lips tight. They shut off a quick breath, a gasp, the
sharp surge of a sudden pain. Swift as his thoughts there had come a
transformation in the picture before his eyes--a drawing of a curtain
over it, like a golden veil; and then _she_ was standing there, and the
gold had gathered about her in the wonderful mantle of her
hair--shining, dishevelled hair--a bare, white arm thrust upward through
its sheen, and _her_ face--taunting, unafraid--_laughing at him_! Good
God! could he never kill that memory? Was it upon him again to-night,
clutching at his throat, stifling his heart, grinding him into the agony
he could not fight--that vision of her--_his wife?_ That girl on her
rock, so like a slender flower! That woman in her room, so like a golden
goddess! Both caught--unexpectedly! What devil-spirit had made him pick
up this picture from the woman's seat? What....
His fingers tightened upon the photograph, ready to tear it into bits.
The cardboard ripped an inch--and he stopped suddenly his impulse to
destroy. The girl was looking at him again from out of the
picture--looking at him with clear, wide eyes, surprised at his
weakness, startled by the fierceness of his assault upon her, wondering,
amazed, questioning him! For the first time he saw what he had missed
before--that _questioning_ in her eyes.
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