But if she did not understand her own misery, she understood vaguely what

he had said to her. She got up and went to her writing-table where a

letter lay folded, ready for its envelope. She gave it to him without

a word.

"Do you mean me to read this?" he asked.

"Yes; if you like." She answered without looking at him; apparently she

was absorbed in addressing her envelope.

He opened the letter gingerly, and read in his wife's schoolgirl

handwriting:-"Dear Louis,--It's awfully good of you but I'm afraid I can't go with you

to the 'Lyceum' to-morrow night so I return the ticket with many thanks,

in case you want to give it to somebody else. Nevill has come home--why

of course you saw him--and I am so happy and I want all my time for him.

"I thought you'd like to know this. I'm sure he will be delighted to see

you whenever you like to call.--Yours sincerely, "Molly Tyson.

"P.S.--Thanks awfully for the lovely flowers. You can smell them all

over the flat!"

"Come here, you fool," he said gently.

But Mrs. Nevill Tyson was stamping her envelope with great deliberation

and care. She handed it to him at arm's length and darted away. He heard

her turning the key in her bedroom door with a determined click.

He read her letter over again twice. The ridiculous little phrases

convinced him of the groundlessness of his suspicion. Punctuation

would have argued premeditation, and premeditation guilt. "Nevill has

come home--why of course you saw him." She had actually forgotten that

Stanistreet had been there on the evening of his arrival.

He laughed so loud that Mrs. Nevill Tyson heard him in her bedroom.

An hour later he heard her softly unlocking her door. He smiled. She

might be as innocent as she pleased, but she had made him make a cursed

fool of himself, and he meant that she should suffer for that.

He threw Stanistreet's flowers out of the window, put Molly's note up in

its envelope and sent it to the post. Then he sat down to think.

Mrs. Nevill Tyson's room was opposite the one she had just left. She

stood for a moment before her looking-glass, studying her own reflection.

She took off her pearl necklace and spanned her white throat with her

tiny hands. And as she looked she was glad. When all was said and done

she looked beautiful--beautiful after her small fashion. She turned this

way and that to make perfectly sure of the fact. She had realized long

ago how much her hold on Nevill's affections depended on it. His love had

waxed and waned with her beauty. Well--She opened her door before getting

into bed, and for the next hour she lay listening and wondering. She saw

the line of light at the top of the drawing-room door disappear as the

big lamp went out. It was followed by a fainter streak. Nevill must have

lit the little lamp on the table by the window. (Oh, dear! He was going

to sit up, then.) She heard him go into the dining-room beyond and

stumble against things; then came the spurt of a match, followed by the

clinking of glasses. (He was only going to have a smoke and a drink.)

She waited a little while longer, then she called to him. There was no

answer; he must be dozing on the couch in the dining-room. A light wind

lifted the carpet at the door, and she wondered drowsily whether Nevill

had left the drawing-room window open.




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