But she was becoming conscious of her husbandlooking at her. He was smiling at her, quizzically,as if he were ridiculing her gently for being asleepin broad daylight, but at the same time he wasthinking, Go on reading. You don’t look sad now, hethought. And he wondered what she was reading,and exaggerated her ignorance, her simplicity, for heliked to think that she was not clever, not book-learned at all. He wondered if she understood whatshe was reading. Probably not, he thought. She wasastonishingly beautiful. Her beauty seemed to him,if that were possible, to increaseYet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play,she finished.

"Well?" she said, echoing his smile dreamily,looking up from her book.As with your shadow I with these did play,she murmured, putting the book on the table.

What had happened, she wondered, as she took upher knitting, since she had seen him alone? Sheremembered dressing, and seeing the moon; Andrewholding his plate too high at dinner; being depressedby something William had said; the birds in thetrees; the sofa on the landing; the children being182

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