How terrible (I thought to myself) must this untold story be, if the mere act of referring to it makes light-hearted Major Fitz-David speak seriously and sadly, never smiling, never paying me a compliment, never even noticing the singing upstairs! My heart sank in me as I drew that startling conclusion.

For the first time since I had entered the house I was at the end of my resources; I knew neither what to say nor what to do next.
And yet I kept my seat.

Never had the resolution to discover what my husband was hiding from me been more firmly rooted in my mind than it was at that moment! I cannot account for the extraordinary inconsistency in my character which this confession implies.

I can only describe the facts as they really were.
The singing went on upstairs.

Major Fitz-David still waited impenetrably to hear what I had to say--to know what I resolved on doing next.
Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domestic incident happened.