alternated with the vision of her sister's
guilty flight. She wanted to fly, herself--to go off and keep going for
ever. Lionel was fussily kind to her and he didn't abuse Selina--he
didn't tell her again how that lady's behaviour suited his book. He
simply resisted, with a little exasperating, dogged grin, her pitiful
appeal for knowledge of her sister's whereabouts. He knew what she
wanted it for and he wouldn't help her in any such game. If she would
promise, solemnly, to be quiet, he would tell her when she got better,
but he wouldn't lend her a hand to make a fool of herself. Her work was
cut out for her--she was to stay and mind the children: if she was so
keen to do her duty she needn't go further than that for it. He talked a
great deal about the children and figured himself as pressing the
little deserted darlings to his bosom. He was not a comedian, and she
could see that he really believed he was going to be better and purer
now. Laura said she was sure Selina would make an attempt to get
them--or at least one of them; and he replied, grimly, 'Yes, my dear,
she had better try!' The girl was so angry with him, in her hot, tossing
weakness, for refusing to tell her even whether the desperate pair had
crossed the Channel, that she was guilty of the immorality of regretting
that the difference in badness between husband and wife was so distinct
(for it was distinct, she could see that) as he made his dry little
remark about Selina's trying. He told her he had already seen his
solicitor, the clever Mr. Smallshaw, and she said she didn't care.

On the fourth day of her absence from Grosvenor Place she got up, at an
hour when she was alone (in the afternoon, rather late), and prepared
herself to go out. Lady Davenant had admitted in the morning that she
was better, and fortunately she had not the complication of being
subject to a medical opinion, having absolutely refused to see a doctor.
Her old friend had been obliged to go out--she had scarcely quitted her
before--and Laura had requested the hovering, rustling lady's-maid to
leave her alone: she assured her she was doing beautifully. Laura had no
plan except to leave London that night; she had a moral certainty that
Selina had gone to the Continent. She had always done so whenever she
had a chance, and what chance had ever been larger than the present? The
Continent was fearfully vague, but she would deal sharply with
Lionel--she would show him she had a right to