He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. ‘You do not try.
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