“I’ve been sleeping in this room since November.  Before that we had our old rooms at the Manor.  There was a passage between, you remember.  But I left the doors wide open.”

“I suppose,” said Queenie, with furious calm, “you want me to divorce him?”

“Divorce him?  Why on earth should you?  Just because I looked after him at night?  I had to.  There wasn’t anybody else.  And he was afraid to sleep alone.  He is still.  But he’s all right as long as he knows I’m there.”

“You expect me to believe that’s all there is in it?”

“No, I don’t, considering what your mind’s like.”

“Oh yes, when people do dirty things it’s always other people’s dirty minds.  Do you imagine I’m a fool, Anne?”

“You’re an awful fool if you think Colin’s my lover.”

“I think it, and I say it.”

“If you think it you’re a fool.  If you say it you’re a liar.  A damned liar.”

“And is Colin’s mother a liar, too?”

“Yes, but not a damned one.  It would serve you jolly well right, Queenie, if he was my lover, after the way you left him to me.”

“I didn’t leave him to you.  I left him to his mother.”

“Anyhow, you left him.”

“I couldn’t help it. You were not wanted at the front and I was.  I couldn’t leave hundreds of wounded soldiers just for Colin.”

“I had to.  He was in an awful state.  I’ve looked after him day and night; I’ve got him almost well now, and I think the least you can do is to keep quiet and let him alone.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort.  I shall divorce him as soon as the war’s over.”

“It isn’t over yet.  And I don’t advise you to try.  No decent barrister would touch your case, it’s so rotten.”

“Not half so rotten as you’ll look when it’s in all the papers.”

“You can’t frighten me that way.”

“Can’t I?  I suppose you’ll say you were looking, poor darling, if you do bring your silly old action.  Only please don’t do it till he’s quite well, or he’ll be ill again...I think that’s tea going in.  Will you go down?”

They went down.  Tea was laid in the big bare hall.  The small round oak table brought them close together.  Anne waited on Queenie with every appearance of polite attention.  Queenie ate and drank in long, fierce silences; for her hunger was even more imperious than her pride.

“I don’t want to eat your food,” she said at last.  “I’m only doing it because I’m starving.  I dined with Colin’s mother last night.  It was the first dinner I’ve eaten since I went to the war.”

“You needn’t feel unhappy about it,” said Anne.  “It’s Eliot’s house and Jerrold’s food.  How’s Cutler?”

“Much the same as when you saw him.”  Queenie answered quietly, but her face was red.

“And that Johnnie—­what was his name?—­who took my place?”

Queenie’s flush darkened.  She was holding her mouth so tight that the thin red line of the lips faded.