s wife--I wonder
_you_ can ever pretend, or care to pretend to think that it was meant
for you! You surely don't think three years have made you like
_that_?" and she gave a laugh as at some absolute absurdity, confident
in her own knowledge of how splendid a man he had always been.

He looked up swiftly. He suspected her. But she did not flinch, for
this was a new Ruth indeed. She looked straight at him--puzzled
innocent surprise--and it was his gaze that fell after all. He knew
what she meant--and she knew also that he knew.

The woman's tact had conquered in a sentence.

"Anyhow," he answered sulkily, acknowledging defeat in that one word,
"you must see _she_ is in the wrong? I know you women always hold
together, but you must see that it's not--well, not exactly pleasant
for me to be paragraphed in every rag as the selfish author-husband,
whether I was meant or not. She had no right to publish it without my
knowing."

"Oh yes," assented Ruth, "I see that, quite. She has been very silly,
but I'm sure she meant nothing and perhaps----" Then she stopped
abruptly and repeated; "But she has certainly been silly."

Hubert, oddly full of guilt and humiliation, was glad to leave this
interview at such an end. He had planned it in a way very different.

"Well," he said decisively, as he got up, "I can do nothing with her.
She persists that she will bring another book out now, and so revive
the whole unpleasant business! Tea will be ready and you must want it,
but afterwards" (he touched her lovingly upon the arm), "I know you'll
want to help me, dear old girl. You'll go and talk to her quite
firmly, won't you?"

"I'll go and talk to her, yes," said Ruth, pressing his arm no less
fondly.

He did not notice that she dropped the adverbs.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TWO WAYS

It was not a comfortable meal, this tea, and though Helena no less than
Ruth knew it to be the prelude to a scene, neither could feel much
regret when Hubert with clumsy ill-ease said; "Well, it is five
o'clock, I'll leave you two to a chat," and so out, colliding with the
door.

They were left staring at each other, the wife and the sister.

Helena, although she knew the object of this chat and the whole visit,
could not work herself up to the pitch of feeling so much resentment as
she had intended. This was such a different woman, who looked across
at her with bright understanding eyes, from the one she remembered:
shrivelled,