in her power to crush it, to confront it with the proof of its own
futility.

"I do not believe it," said Mrs. Majendie.

"Of course you don't believe it. You're a good woman." She shook her
meditative head. "The sort of woman who can live with a man for nine
years without seeing what he's like. If you'd understood your husband as
well as I do, you'd have known that he couldn't run his life on your
lines for six months, let alone nine years."

Mrs. Majendie's chin rose, as if she were lifting her face above the
reach of the hand that had tried to strike it. Her voice throbbed on one
deep monotonous note.

"I do not believe a word of what you say. And I cannot think what your
motive is in saying it."

"Don't worry about my motive. It ought to be pretty clear. Let me tell
you--you can bring your husband back to-morrow, and you can keep him to
the end of time, if you choose, Mrs. Majendie. Or you can lose him
altogether. And you will, if you go on as you're doing. If I were you,
I should make up my mind whether it's good enough. I shouldn't think it
was, myself."

Mrs. Majendie was silent. She tried to think of some word that would end
the intolerable interview. Her lips parted to speak, but her thoughts
died in her brain unborn.

She felt her face turning white under the woman's face; it hypnotised
her; it held her dumb.

"Don't you worry," said Lady Cayley soothingly. "You can get your husband
back from that woman to-morrow, if you choose." She smiled. "Do you see
my motive now?"

Lady Cayley had not seen it; but she had seen herself for one beautiful
moment as the benignant and inspired conciliator. She desired Mrs.
Majendie to see her so. She had gratified her more generous instincts in
giving the unfortunate lady "the straight tip." She knew, perfectly well,
that Mrs. Majendie wouldn't take it. She knew, all the time, that
whatever else her revelation did, it would not move Mrs. Majendie to
charm her husband back. She could not say precisely what it would do.
Used to live solely in the voluptuous moment, she had no sense of drama
beyond the scene she played in.

"Your motive," said Mrs. Majendie, "is of no importance. No motive could
excuse you."

"You think not." She rose and looked down on the motionless woman. "I've
told you the truth, Mrs. Majendie, because, sooner or later, you'd have
had to know it; and other people would have told you worse things that
aren't true. You can take it from me that t