Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. But this was long ago. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. . . She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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