'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.'

He looked at her with admiring sympathy.

'But what about other friends?'

'Well--oh, you know--'

'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.'

'But you can't stand her, Vincy.'

'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to let him stay here under these circ.u.mstances.'

'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at his word, then it would be different, of course.'

'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the fourth act, Edith.'

'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said rather sadly.

'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would have written that letter?'

'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.'

'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.'

'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?'

'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered.

'I say, Edith!'

'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She keeps on making scenes.'

'So does Bruce.'

'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh, Edith--are you unhappy?'

'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided.

Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I can adjust myself to my good fortune.'

Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a proud satisfaction.

During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His devotion was a.s.siduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might happen; the chances were all in his favour.

What an extraordinary woman she was--and how pretty--how subtle; how perfect their life might be together....

He implored Vincy to use his influence.

'I can't see Edith in anything so crude as the--as--that court,' Vincy said.

'But Bruce begs her to do it. What could their life be together afterwards? It's simply a deliberate sacrifice.'

'There's every hope that Miss Argles will never let him go,' said Vincy. 'One has to be very firm to get away from her. Oh, ever so firm, and _obstinate_, you can't think! How many times a day she must be reproaching Bruce--that will be rather a change for him. However, anything may happen,' said Vincy soothingly. He still maintained, for he had a very strong sense of propriety in matters of form, that Aylmer ought to go away. But Edith would not agree.

So the children played and enjoyed themselves, and sometimes asked after their father, and Mrs Ottley, though a little anxious, enjoyed herself too, and Edith had never been so happy. She was having a holiday. She dismissed all trouble and lived in a sort of dream.

Towards the end of the summer, hearing no more from Bruce, Aylmer grew still more hopeful; he began to regard it as practically settled. The next letter in answer to Edith's would doubtless convince her, and he would then persuade her; it was, tacitly, he thought, almost agreed now; it was not spoken of between them, but he believed it was all right....

Aylmer had come back to London in the early days of September and was wandering through his house thinking how he would have it done up and how he wouldn't leave it when they were married, when a telephone message summoned him to Knightsbridge.

He went, and found the elder Mrs Ottley just going away. He thought she looked at him rather strangely.

'I think Edith wants to speak to you,' she said, as she left the room.

'Dear Edith! Be nice to her.' And she fled.

Aylmer waited alone, looking round the room that he loved because he a.s.sociated it with her.

It was one of the first cold damp days of the autumn, and there was a fire. Edith came in, in a dark dress, looking pale, and different, he thought. She had seemed the very spirit of summer only a day or two before.

A chill presentiment struck to his heart.

'You've had a letter? Go on; don't keep me in suspense.' He spoke with nervous impatience, and no self-restraint.

She sat down by him. She had no wish to create an effect, but she found it difficult to speak.

'Yes, I've had a letter,' she said quietly. 'They've quarrelled. They quarrelled on board. He hates her. He says he would rather die than remain with her. He's written me a rather nice letter. They quarrelled so frightfully that a young man on board interfered,' she said, smiling faintly. 'As soon as they arrived the young man married her. He's a commercial traveller. He's only twenty-five.... It seems he pitied her so much that he proposed to her on board, and she left Bruce. It wasn't true about the predicament. It was--a mistake. Bruce was grateful for my letter. He's glad I've not told anyone--not done anything. Now the children will never know. But I've told Mrs Ottley all about it. I thought I'd better, now it's over. She won't ask him questions....

Bruce is on his way home.'

'All right!' said Aylmer, getting up. 'Let him come. Forgive him again, that's right! Would you have done that for _me_?'

'No! Never! If you had once been unfaithful, and I knew it, I'd never have forgiven you.'

'I quite believe it. But why?'

'Because I care for you too much. If you had been in Bruce's position I should never have seen you again. With him it's different. It's a feeling of--it's for him, not for me. I've felt no jealousy, no pa.s.sion, so I could judge calmly.'

'All right,' repeated Aylmer ironically; 'all right! Judge calmly! Do the right thing. You know best.' He stopped a moment, and then said, taking his hat: 'I understand now. I see clearly at last. You've had the opportunity and you wouldn't take it; you don't care for me. I'm going.'

He went to the door.

'Oh, come back, Aylmer! Don't go like that! You know I care for you, but what could I do? I foresaw this...You know, I can't feel _no_ responsibility about Bruce. I couldn't make my happiness out of someone else's misery. He would have been miserable and, not only that, it would have been his ruin. Bruce could never be safe, happy, or all right, except here.'