I dare say even such an unheard-of
thing as what we are discussing now, or something equally ghastly, does
occur occasionally. In foreign countries, perhaps. I have not studied
such things enough to say. We were all very much restricted in our
reading as children, and I honestly think, not unwisely. It is enough
for the present to repeat that I do believe, and that whatever may
happen—and I know absolutely nothing about the procedure in such
cases—but whatever may happen, I shall still be loyal; I shall always
have your interests at heart.’ Her words faltered and she turned her
head away. ‘You did love me once, Arthur, I can’t forget that.’ The
contralto voice trembled ever so little, and the gloved hand smoothed
gently the brass knob beneath. ‘If,’ said Lawford, resting his face on his hands, and curiously
watching the while his moving reflection in the looking-glass before
him—‘if I said I still loved you, what then? ‘But you have already denied it, Arthur.’

‘Yes; but if I said that that too was said only in haste, that brooding
over the trouble this—this metamorphosis was bringing on us all had
driven me almost beyond endurance: supposing that I withdrew all that,
and instead said now that I do still love you, just as I—’ he turned a
little, and turned back again, ‘like this?’

Sheila paused. ‘Could _any_ woman answer such a question?’ she almost
sighed at last. ‘Yes, but,’ Lawford pressed on, in a voice almost naive and stubborn as
a child’s, ‘If I tried to—to make you? I did once, Sheila.’

‘I can’t, I can’t conceive such a position. Surely that alone is almost
as frantic as it is heartless! Is it, is it even right?’

‘Well, I have not actually asked it. I own,’ he added moodily, almost
under his breath, ‘it would be—dangerous.... But there, Sheila, this
poor old mask of mine is wearing out. I am somehow convinced of that. What will be left, God only knows. You were saying—’ He rose abruptly. ‘Please, please sit down,’ he said; ‘I did not notice you were
standing.’

‘I shall not keep you a moment,’ she answered hurriedly; ‘I will sit
here. The truth is, Arthur,’ she began again almost solemnly, ‘apart
from all sentiment and—and good intentions, my presence here only
harasses you and keeps you back. I am not so bound up in myself that I
cannot realise _that_. The consequence is that after calmly—and I hope
considerately—thinking the whole thing over, I have come to the
conclusion that it would arouse very little comment, the least possible
perhaps in the circumstances, if I just went away for a few days. You
are not in any sense ill. In fact, I have never known you so—so robust,
so energetic. You will be alone: Mr Bethany, perhaps.... You could go
out and come in just as you pleased. Possibly,’ Sheila smiled frankly
beneath her veil, ‘even this Dr Ferguson you have invented will be a
help. It’s only the servants that remain to be considered.’

‘I should prefer to be quite alone.’

‘Then do not worry about _them_. I can easily explain. And if you would
not mind letting her in, Mrs Gull can come in every other day or so
just to keep things in order. She’s entirely trustworthy and discreet. Or perhaps, if you would prefer—’

‘Mrs Gull will do nicely, Sheila. It’s very good of you to have given
me so much thought.’ A long and rather arduous pause followed. ‘Oh, one other thing, Arthur. You sent out to Mr Critchett—do you
remember?—the night you first came home. I think, too, after the first
awful shock, when we were sitting in our bedroom, you actually referred
to—to violent measures. You will promise me, I may perhaps at least ask
that, you will promise me on your word of honour, for Alice’s sake, if
not for mine, to do nothing rash.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Lawford, sinking lower even than he had supposed
possible into the thin and lightless chill of ennui—‘nothing rash.’

Sheila rose with a sigh only in part suppressed. ‘I have not seen Mr
Bethany again. I think, however, it would be better to let Harry know;
I mean, dear, of your derangement. After all, he is one of the
family—at least, of mine. He will not interfere. He would, perhaps
quite naturally, be hurt if we did not take him into our confidence. Otherwise there is no pressing cause for haste, at least for another
week or so. After that, I suppose, something will have to be done. Then
there’s Mr Wedderburn; wouldn’t it be as well to let him know that at
least for the present you are quite unable to think of returning to
town? That, too, in time will have to be arranged, I suppose, if
nothing happens meanwhile; I mean if things don’t come right. And I do
hope, Arthur, you will not set your mind too closely on what may only
prove false hopes. This is all intensely painful to me; of course, to
us both.’

Again Lawford, even though he did not turn to confront it, became
conscious of the black veil turned towards him tentatively,
speculatively, impenetrably. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ll write to Wedderburn; he’s had his ups and downs
too.’

‘I always rather fancied so,’ said Sheila reflectively, ‘he looks
rather a—a restless man. Oh, and then again,’ she broke off quickly,
‘there’s the question of money. I suppose—it is only a conjecture—I
suppose it would be better to do nothing in that direction just for the
present. Ada has now gone to the Bank. Fifty pounds, Arthur; it is out
of my own private account—do you think that will be enough, just, of
course, for your _present_ needs?’

‘As a bribe, hush-money, or a thank-offering, Sheila?’ murmured her
husband wearily. ‘I don’t follow you,’ replied the discreet voice from beneath the veil. He did actually turn this time and glance steadily over his shoulder. ‘How long are you going for? and where?’

‘I proposed to go to my cousin’s, Bettie Lovat’s; that is, of course,
if you have no objection. It’s near; it will be a long-deferred visit;
and she need know very little. And, of course, if for the least thing
in the world you should want me, there I am within call, as it were. And you will write? We _are_ acting for the best, Arthur?’

‘So long as it is your best, Sheila.’

Sheila pondered. ‘You think, you mean, they’ll all say I ought to have
stayed. Candidly, I can’t see it in that light. Surely every experience
of life proves that in intimate domestic matters, and especially in
those between husband and wife, only the parties concerned have any
means of judging what is best for them? It has been our experience at
any rate: though I must in fairness confess that, outwardly at least, I
haven’t had much of that kind of thing to complain of.’ Sheila paused
again for a reply. ‘What kind of thing?’

‘Domestic experience, dear.’

The house was quiet. There was not a sound stirring in the still sunny
road of orchards and discreet and drowsy villas. A long silence
followed, immensely active and alert on the one side, almost morbidly
lethargic so far as the stooping figure in front of the looking-glass
was concerned.