has been ill, rather
short of breath--the doctor thinks it is asthma--for some time, and all
the agitation of this business has upset him and made him worse. He is
upstairs now--asleep. Of course if I had thought I should make him ill I
could never have done any of this. But it's done now and here I am, Mr.
Brumley, back in my place. With all sorts of things changed. Put
right...."

"I see," said Mr. Brumley stupidly.

Her speech was like the falling of an opaque curtain upon some romantic
spectacle. She stood there, almost defensively behind her chair as she
made it. There was a quality of premeditation in her words, yet
something in her voice and bearing made him feel that she knew just how
it covered up and extinguished his dreams and impulses. He heard her out
and then suddenly his spirit rebelled against her decision. "No!" he
cried.

She waited for him to go on.

"You see," he said, "I thought that it was just that you wanted to get
away----That this life was intolerable----That you were----Forgive me if
I seem to be going beyond--going beyond what I ought to be thinking
about you. Only, why should I pretend? I care, I care for you
tremendously. And it seemed to me that you didn't love your husband,
that you were enslaved and miserable. I would have done anything to help
you--anything in the world, Lady Harman. I know--it may sound
ridiculous--there have been times when I would have faced death to feel
you were happy and free. I thought all that, I felt all that,--and
then--then you come back here. You seem not to have minded. As though I
had misunderstood...."

He paused and his face was alive with an unwonted sincerity. His
self-consciousness had for a moment fallen from him.

"I know," she said, "it _was_ like that. I knew you cared. That is why I
have so wanted to talk to you. It looked like that...."

She pressed her lips together in that old familiar hunt for words and
phrases.

"I didn't understand, Mr. Brumley, all there was in my husband or all
there was in myself. I just saw his hardness and his--his hardness in
business. It's become so different now. You see, I forgot he has bad
health. He's ill; I suppose he was getting ill then. Instead of
explaining himself--he was--excited and--unwise. And now----"

"Now I suppose he has--explained," said Mr. Brumley slowly and with
infinite distaste. "Lady Harman, _what_ has he explained?"

"It isn't so much that he has explained, Mr. Brumley," said L