" She talked, in
fact, in the endeavour to sting him into speech.
She must have said so much that, with the expression of her
grievance, her mood changed. She went back to her own room in
the gallery, and sat there for a long time thinking. And she thought
herself into a mood of absolute unselfishness, of absolute
self-contempt, too. She said to herself that she was no good; that
she had failed in all her efforts--in her efforts to get Edward back
as in her efforts to make him curb his expenditure. She imagined
herself to be exhausted; she imagined herself to be done. Then a
great fear came over her.
She thought that Edward, after what she had said to him, must
have committed suicide. She went out on to the gallery and
listened; there was no sound in all the house except the regular
beat of the great clock in the hall. But, even in her debased
condition, she was not the person to hang about. She acted. She
went straight to Edward's room, opened the door, and looked in.
He was oiling the breech action of a gun. It was an unusual thing
for him to do, at that time of night, in his evening clothes. It never
occurred to her, nevertheless, that he was going to shoot himself
with that implement.
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