“How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. ” He took them out and showed her. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love.
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