He grew to dread this arrest, this throw-back, this chaos inside
himself, when he seemed merely at the mercy of his own powerful and
conflicting elements. How to get some measure of control or surety, this
was the question. And when the question rose maddening in him, he would
clench his fists as if he would _compel_ the whole universe to submit to
him. But it was in vain. He could not even compel himself.
Tonight, however, he was still serene, though little tremors of
unreasonable exasperation ran through him. He had to handle the razor
very carefully, as he shaved, for it was not at one with him, he was
afraid of it. His hearing also was too much sharpened. He heard the woman
lighting the lamps on the corridor, and attending to the fire in the
visitor's room. And then, as he went to his room he heard the trap
arrive. Then came Isabel's voice, lifted and calling, like a bell
ringing:
'Is it you, Bertie? Have you come?'
And a man's voice answered out of the wind:
'Hello, Isabell There you are.'
'Have you had a miserable drive? I'm so sorry we couldn't send a closed
carriage. I can't see you at all, you know.'
'I'm coming. No, I liked the drive--it was like Perthshire. Well, how are
you? You're looking fit as ever, as far as I can see.'
'Oh, yes,' said Isabel. 'I'm wonderfully well. How are you? Rather thin,
I think--'
'Worked to death--everybody's old cry. But I'm all right, Ciss.
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