The Well of Loneliness

One morning Stephen looked at Mary intently. "Come here. You're not well! What's the matter? Tell me. " For she thought that the girl was unusually pale, thought too that her lips drooped a little at the corners; and a sudden fear contracted her heart. "Tell me at once what's the matter with you! " Her voice was rough with anxiety, and she laid an imperative hand over Mary's.

Mary protested. "Don't be absurd; there's nothing the matter, I'm perfectly well -- you're imagining things. " For what could be the matter? Was she not here in Paris with Stephen? But her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away quickly to hide them, ashamed of her own unreason.