ar friends.

In one moment all the words rehearsed died on her tongue. Afterwards
perhaps, but for the moment she must comfort him. She could not hurt
him more just now.

"Oh, Hubert," she cried, running to him and putting her hand
impulsively upon his shoulder, all forgotten save the instinct to
console, "they haven't sent you that?"

He turned round with quite a dazed look, apparently not in the least
surprised to see her there. "Oh yes," he said in a hard voice,
"there'll be lots of those. It's only just beginning." He stared
dully at the spiteful, vulgar, words.

She knew what they must mean to him and once again her soul veered
round to Ruth's mood of pity--pity and regret. It was her fault, this,
she knew that; he had been right all through. He was so right and
strong, and that was partly where her anger lay. She could have
forgiven a weak idiot like Ally better.

She looked down at him; wavering, torn by two instincts, doubtful.

She looked. She could not see his face, but on the blotting-pad there
dropped two tears.

She had not known that men could cry. Those two damp spots that spread
on the green pad beneath her fascinated eyes told her of what his agony
of tortured pride must be--and brought back to her memory those words
of Ruth's; "He's nothing but a child: be gentle."

He was _not_ strong and right. He did _not_ have a soul of iron, this
man: _not_ despise her as a weakling. He was weak himself. He was a
child and wanted sympathy....

Some other words of his came drifting back to her as she stared blankly
at those spots of darker green and he sat with his head averted--was it
in anger or in shame?

He never would have married a woman who wrote: hated clever women! All
that came back to her. Had she played fair? He wanted somebody to
help, encourage; could she be his rival? For better, for worse----

Suddenly she found herself talking.

"Hugh," she was saying, back on the words of a yet earlier rehearsal,
"I'm so sorry. I've been such a beast, and I _have_ wanted so to do
the proper thing. I've been a beastly wife to you, and now I've come
to say you're right. I can't finish the new book; I can't get on at
all." She paused and said deliberately; "I'm just an amateur."

And in one moment, before she had finished, he was on his feet. He had
his arms round her with all of his old love, and held her at arms'
length, and looked at her with pride, as though she had just spok