ilent, that mockery of talk in front of Lily over, except that now
and then he would throw out questions--with the hard air of counsel
cross-examining--questions that showed upon what string his mind was
harping, questions to do always with the hated book. These she
answered patiently, as one who knows she has deserved her punishment.

What she had not deserved, what she would not endure, Helena decided,
was his whole treatment of her. Each afternoon he had an agent,
publisher, friend, somebody that took him into London; each night he
had some work to do--and this although he told her brutally that she
had fatally wrecked his new novel. It was a fresh routine.

Helena found herself sentenced--apparently for life--to solitary
confinement in a new-art cottage. Callers arrived, suspicious in their
frequency, but she said, "Not At Home" to all, caring but little to
feed their taste for a tit-bit of scandal. Letters came too from dear
friends who congratulated her ... but these she tore up, unanswered.
Others came from Mr. Blatchley--unctuous, consoling, full of the glad
news that sales were leaping up as a result, and sending a big cheque
as a polite advance. Helena loathed herself for not destroying this as
well; but she had sold her happiness, so why not take the price?
Besides, if Hubert's new book had really had to be abandoned,----!

"I hope to get some reviewing work," he said at the end of the fourth
ghastly lunch. "That will be something. I am off to town about it but
shall be back to dinner."

She forced herself to speak in the same level tones that he adopted.
"Doesn't it occur to you," she asked, "that it's not very pleasant for
me, just now, to be always left alone? I can't go out like that, with
everybody saying that we've quarrelled."

"Are you blaming me, now?" he asked in icy surprise.

She refused to argue this; she felt that it was mean. "What am I to
do," she said, "all these lonely afternoons?"

"I should send for your good friend Alison," he answered with a grim
humour, and went out to his own room.

Helena sighed, a sigh of despair; then she got up with more energy than
during all these days, buoyed by a resolve.

Anything was better than inaction. Even a row would not be so awful as
this freezing calmness! She would do something--must!

She took his advice. She went to the telephone and left a message with
the Studio porter. She asked Mr. Alison to tea.

Then she went back to