All the way upstairs he kept saying to
himself, "This has not happened to me. It is not possible that this has
happened to me."
He looked curiously at his own hand on the banisters. The stairs were
very steep, and it seemed to take him a long time to surmount them.
Instead of feeling keenly, as he knew that he ought to feel, he felt
nothing at all. When he opened the door he saw Helen sitting by the
bedside. There were shaded lights on the table, and the room, though
it seemed to be full of a great many things, was very tidy. There was a
faint and not unpleasant smell of disinfectants. Helen rose and gave up
her chair to him in silence. As they passed each other their eyes met in
a peculiar level glance, he wondered at the extraordinary clearness of
his eyes, and at the deep calm and sadness that dwelt in them. He sat
down by the bedside, and a moment afterwards heard the door shut gently
behind her. He was alone with Rachel, and a faint reflection of the
sense of relief that they used to feel when they were left alone
possessed him. He looked at her. He expected to find some terrible
change in her, but there was none. She looked indeed very thin, and, as
far as he could see, very tired, but she was the same as she had always
been. Moreover, she saw him and knew him. She smiled at him and said,
"Hullo, Terence."
The curtain which had been drawn between them for so long vanished
immediately.
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