hend the richness which ran in his blood undiluted.
Also he blamed her because he knew that, even given her understanding of his unspoken thoughts, she would discourage their trend and analyze them quite impersonally.
She on her side felt the blame without formulating to herself either the reason of or the possibility for its existence. And the unformed blame, trickling down into her heart, charged her manner with impatience and her lips with drooping bitterness.
So she nagged him.
This nagging was at first unconscious, unpointed; a simple and logical reflex action of her hurt femininity. But when she saw that her husband was perfectly indifferent to the change in the atmosphere about him her nagging became invested with driving, acrid purpose.
Yet never did the Professor by word or by deed lay himself open to the domestic challenge:
"Why did you do this? Why did you say that?"
It was true that he hurried through his dinner, that he took the cup of coffee which she handed him with an impatient gesture, that he lit his cigarette with fingers that trembled absurdly, and smoked as hard and rapidly as though his life depended on his
