“I wonder what all these letters of mine are about!  This is a bill, of course.  The West Kensington Wine Company.  Whew!  We are getting through the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting what we pay for when we dine in town.”

“Well, what matter!  Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully low without it.”

“All right, my dear.  So long as you please yourself, and dont injure your health, I dont care.  Here’s a letter of yours put among mine by mistake.  It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth.”

“It’s from Ned,” said Susanna, turning pale.  “He must be coming home, or he would not write.  Yes, he is.  What shall I do?”

“What does he say?” said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. “’Back at 6 on Wednesday evening.  Have high tea.  N.C.’ Short and sweet!  Well, he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he knows the address, which of course he doesnt.”

“He knows nothing.  His note shews that.  What will he do when he finds me gone?  He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to send on my letters.  The landlady has most likely found out for her own information.  There is no mistake about it,” said Susanna, rising and walking to the window:  “I am in a regular funk about him.  I have half a mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him.  I could let the murder out gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he discovers anything.”

“Go back! oh no, nonsense!  The worst he can do is to cut you—­and a good job too.”

“I wish he would.  It would be a relief to me at present to know for certain that he would.”

“He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time you have been on the stage.”

“There’s nothing wrong in being on the stage.  There’s nothing wrong in being here either, in spite of Society.  After all, what do I care about Ned, or anybody else?  He always went his own way when it suited him; and he has no right to complain if I go mine.  Let him come if he likes:  he will not get much satisfaction from me.”  Susanna sat down again, and drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.

“Dont think any more about it,” said Marmaduke.  “He wont come.”

“Oh, let him, if he likes,” said Susanna, impatiently.  Marmaduke did not quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness.  He hoped that Conolly would have the good sense to keep away.

“Look here, Bob,” said she, when they had finished breakfast.  “Let us go somewhere to-day.  I feel awfully low.  Let us have a turn up the river.”

“All right,” said Marmaduke, with alacrity.  “Whatever you please.  How shall we go?”

“Anyhow.  Let us go to Hampton by train.  When we get there we can settle what to do afterward.  Can you come now?”

“Yes, whenever you are ready.”

“Then I will run upstairs and dress.  Go out and amuse yourself with that blessed old lawn-mower until I come.”