e poster of the early edition of the Signal. And she read on the
poster, in large letters: 'DEATH OF LI HUNG CHANG.' It is no
exaggeration to say that she nearly fainted. Only by the exercise of
that hard self-control, of which women alone are capable, did she
refrain from tumbling against the blue-clad breast of Adams, the
Cheswardine coachman.

She purchased the Signal with well-feigned calm, opened it and read:
'Stop-press news. Pekin. Li Hung Chang, the celebrated Chinese
statesman, died at two o'clock this morning.--Reuter.'

III

Vera reclined on the sofa that afternoon, and the sofa was drawn round
in front of the drawing-room fire. And she wore her fluffiest and
languidest peignoir. And there was a perfume of eau de Cologne in the
apartment. Vera was having a headache; she was having it in her grand,
her official manner. Stephen had had to lunch alone. He had been told
that in all probability his suffering wife would not be well enough to
go to the ball. Whereupon he had grunted. As a fact, Vera's headache
was extremely real, and she was very upset indeed.

The death of Li Hung Chang was heavy on her soul. Occultism was
justified of itself. The affair lay beyond coincidence. She had always
KNOWN that there was something in occultism, supernaturalism, so-called
superstitions, what not. But she had never expected to prove the faith
that was in her by such a homicidal act on her own part. It was
detestable of Charlie to have mentioned the thing at all. He had no
right to play with fire. And as for her husband, words could give but
the merest rough outline of her resentment against Stephen. A pretty
state of things that a woman with a position such as she had to keep up
should be reduced to six and sevenpence! Stephen, no doubt, expected
her to visit the pawnshop. It would serve him right if she did so--and
he met her coming out under the three brass balls! Did she not dress
solely and wholly to please him? Not in the least to please herself!
Personally she had a mind set on higher things, impossible aspirations.
But he liked fine clothes. And it was her duty to satisfy him. She
strove to satisfy him in all matters. She lived for him. She sacrificed
herself to him completely. And what did she get in return? Nothing!
Nothing! Nothing! All men were selfish. And women were their
victims.... Stephen, with his silly bullying rules against credit and
so forth.... The worst of men was that they had no sense.