There is this deception between me and everything." At that word "deception," spoken with such self-contempt, the color flashed back into Hilda's face as suddenly as if she had been struck by a whiplash.

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in front of her.
"Could you--could you sit down and talk about it quietly, Bartley, as if I were a friend, and not some one who had to be defied ?" He dropped back heavily into his chair by the fire.

"It was myself I was defying, Hilda.

I have thought about it until I am worn out." He looked at her and his haggard face softened.

He put out his hand toward her as he looked away again into the fire.
She crept across to him, drawing her stool after her.