Soon their old
friendly intercourse was going on as if it had never been
interrupted.
As for Edith, this unsatisfying, semi-public intimacy came to be
quite as much a pain as a pleasure to her. During these past few
weeks she had been plunged in a mental turmoil, the signs of which
she had concealed with difficulty. She had fought with herself;
she had tried to reason; she had marshalled her pride, but all in
vain. At last she awoke to the terrifying certainty that she was
in love. It had all begun with that moment of impulsive surrender
at Taboga. The night following had been terrible to her. In its
dark hours she had seen her soul for the first time, and the
glimpse she got frightened her. Following this, she became furious
with herself, then resentful toward Anthony; next she grew
desperate and reckless.
She began to look upon her husband with a quickened curiosity, and
found him a stranger. For years she had made allowance for his
weaknesses, ignoring them as she ignored his virtues; but never
before had he appeared so colorless, so insignificant, above all
so alien. She had barely tolerated him hitherto, but now she began
to despise him.
If Cortlandt was aware of her change of feeling and its cause, his
method of dealing with her showed some keenness.
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