He stopped for some seconds.  She was deadly still.  “You wanted to, and now you may.  You wanted to, before I got work.  You remember?  You know your place is still open at Lagune’s.  I don’t care.  I tell you I don’t care that.  Not that!  You may go your own way—­and I shall go mine.  See?  And all this rot—­this sham of living together when neither cares for the other—­I don’t care for you now, you know, so you needn’t think it—­will be over and done with.  As for marriage—­I don’t care that for marriage—­it can’t make a sham and a blunder anything but a sham.

“It’s a sham, and shams have to end, and that’s the end of the matter.”

He stood up resolutely.  He kicked the scattered roses out of his way and dived beneath the bed for his portmanteau.  Ethel neither spoke nor moved, but remained watching his movements.  For a time the portmanteau refused to emerge, and he marred his stern resolution by a half audible “Come here—­damn you!” He swung it into the living room and returned for his box.  He proposed to pack in that room.

When he had taken all his personal possessions out of the bedroom, he closed the folding-doors with an air of finality.  He knew from the sounds that followed that she flung herself upon the bed, and that filled him with grim satisfaction.

He stood listening for a space, then set about packing methodically.  The first rage of discovery had abated; he knew quite clearly that he was inflicting grievous punishment, and that gratified him.  There was also indeed a curious pleasure in the determination of a long and painful period of vague misunderstanding by this unexpected crisis.  He was acutely conscious of the silence on the other side of the folding-doors, he kept up a succession of deliberate little noises, beat books together and brushed clothes, to intimate the resolute prosecution of his preparations.

That was about nine o’clock.  At eleven he was still busy....

Darkness came suddenly upon him.  It was Madam Gadow’s economical habit to turn off all her gas at that hour unless she chanced to be entertaining friends.

He felt in his pocket for matches and he had none.  He whispered curses.  Against such emergencies he had bought a brass lamp and in the bedroom there were candles.  Ethel had a candle alight, he could see the bright yellow line that appeared between the folding doors.  He felt his way presently towards the mantel, receiving a blow in the ribs from a chair on the way, and went carefully amidst Madam Gadow’s once amusing ornaments.

There were no matches on the mantel.  Going to the chest of drawers he almost fell over his open portmanteau.  He had a silent ecstasy of rage.  Then he kicked against the basket in which the roses had come.  He could find no matches on the chest of drawers.

Ethel must have the matches in the bedroom, but that was absolutely impossible.  He might even have to ask her for them, for at times she pocketed matches....  There was nothing for it but to stop packing.  Not a sound came from the other room.