'And I'm afraid,' she went on,'the desire is doing something to me subconsciously that's not good.'
Twice within the last month the dream about the Chinaman had revisited Sheilah, for the first time since her girlhood, when her instincts had come into opposition with her ideals. Both times the dream had recurred after Sheilah had made a supreme effort to be generous to Felix, in way of expiation for the wrong she felt she had done him in caring for another man.
'I mustn't let Felix become unwelcome to me, must I? And lately it's harder for me to be what I should to him, at times. Do you understand?'
Of course Roger understood. He always understood, although sometimes, as now, with a stab of pain. Of what act of self-sacrifice was not Sheilah capable if it was for a principle? She would do anything for the sake of duty. More, it occurred to him bitterly, than for the sake of love. He murmured something of the sort to her now.
'Oh, Roger,' she replied. 'Does it seem to you I have given you so little?'
'No. No. Forgive me. I know you have given me more, being who and what you are, than most women who give all. It's only that I want all so, and want so very much to make you happy. And I cannot. I cannot. It seems to me all I've done is to bring you unhappiness, Sheilah. I think it would
