overflowed onto a neighboring chair. An odd, uncleaned boot lay, like a
frowsy, drunken visitor, on the floor. The springs of the armchair on which
she sat were broken.

"It's not fit for a pig to live in," she declared. "It's a crime to leave
you to that worthless old scoundrel. I'll talk to him before I go. He won't
like it. And then I'll write to Emmy. If that has no effect, I'll go over
to Paris and bring her to her senses."

She had arrived royally indignant, having had a pitched battle with Cousin
Jane, who took Emmy's side and alluded to Septimus in terms of withering
contempt. Now she was furiously angry. The two men looked at her with
wistful adoration, for when Zora was furious in a good cause she was very
beautiful. And the adoration in each man's heart was intensified by the
consciousness of the pathetic futility of her noble rage. It was for her
own sake that the situation had arisen over which she made such a pother,
and she was gloriously unconscious of it. Sypher could not speak lest he
should betray his knowledge of Septimus's secret, and Septimus could only
murmur incoherent ineffectualities concerning the perfection of Emmy, the
worthlessness of himself, and the diamond soul that lodged in Wiggleswick's
forbidding body. Zora would not listen to unreason. It was Emmy's duty to
save her husband from the dust and ashes of his present cosiness, if she
could do nothing else for him; and she, Zora, in her magnificence, was
going to see that Emmy's duty was performed. Instead of writing she would
start the next morning for Paris. It would be well if Septimus could
accompany her.

"Mrs. Dix is coming to London, I believe," said Sypher.

Zora looked inquiringly at Septimus, who explained dis cursively. Zora
renounced Paris. She would wait for Emmy. For the time being the incident
was closed. Septimus, in his hospitality, offered tea.

"I'll get it for you," said Zora. "It will be a good opportunity to speak
sweetly to Wiggleswick."

She swept out of the room; the two men lit cigarettes and smoked for a
while in silence. At last Sypher asked:

"What made you send her the tail of the little dog?"

Septimus reddened, and ran two of the fingers of the hand holding the
cigarette up his hair, and spilled half an inch of ash on his head.

"I broke the dog, you see," he explained luminously, "I knocked it off the
mantelpiece. I'm always doing it. When Emmy has a decent house I'll invent
something to keep dog