ard" that she was reading with the
strongest disapproval. She picked up the letter and glanced through
it again, though she knew it nearly by heart, especially one
passage:

"Your husband is leading such a life here! He has built a
wonderful white marble palace in the desert for an Egyptian
dancing-girl. They say it's a sort of Antony and Cleopatra
over again, and she goes about loaded with jewels and golden
chains. I don't know if you are getting your allowance
regularly, but I should think your husband is pretty well
ruining himself. I never saw a man so changed. He used to be
so melancholy, but now he is as bright as possible, and looks
so well and handsome. I hear the woman is expecting a child,
and they are both as pleased as they can be. I hear all about
it, as our cook's cousin is sister to the ayah your husband
hired for the woman, and my ayah gets it all from our cook. I
really should, my dear, come out and look into the matter, as
after a time he will probably want to stop sending home his
pay."

The thin sheet fell into the woman's lap again, and she seemed to
ponder deeply. Then she read Hamilton telegram again--

"Regret unable to receive you now. Defer visit," and a disagreeable
laugh broke from her thick, colourless lips.

"I will go out and see her first," she thought, smoothing down with
a large, bony hand the folds of her rather prim white cambric
dress. She was a very stupid woman, and not a passionate one;
therefore the agony of pain of a loving, jealous wife was quite
unknown to her. But she was malignant, as such people usually are.
She loved making other people uncomfortable in a general way, and
taking away from them anything she could that they valued. She also
felt a peculiar curiosity such as those who cannot feel passion
themselves have usually about the intense happiness it gives to
others. The picture of this other woman, who had found joy
apparently in the arms she herself years ago had thrust aside,
interested her profoundly. She told herself that this Egyptian
loved Hamilton's money, but some instinct within her held her back
from believing this.

The little bit about the child went deeply into her mind. It
rested there like an arrow-head, and her thoughts grew round it.
When the ship came into port a week or two later, Mrs. Hamilton
was one of the first passengers to land, and after careful
enquiries and