What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. You’re a good friend. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. There’s stories, too, about his demonstrator, Capes Something or other. . ’ The gentleness in his voice nearly overset her. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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