“It is an age since I have seen you, Edward,” she said, “one whole day.  Really, when I do not see you, I do not live, I only exist.”

He freed himself from her clasp with a quick movement.  “Really, Belle,” he said impatiently, “you might be a little more careful than to go through that performance in front of an open window—­especially as the gardener must have seen the whole thing.”

“I don’t much care if he did,” she said defiantly.  “What does it matter?  My husband is certainly not in a position to make a fuss about other people.”

“What does it matter?” he said, stamping his foot.  “What does it not matter?  If you have no care for your good name, do you suppose that I am indifferent to mine?”

Mrs. Quest opened her large violet eyes to the fullest extent, and a curious light was reflected from them.

“You have grown wonderfully cautious all of a sudden, Edward,” she said meaningly.

“What is the use of my being cautious when you are so reckless?  I tell you what it is, Belle.  We are talked of all over this gossiping town, and I don’t like it, and what is more, once and for all, I won’t have it.  If you will not be more careful, I will break with you altogether, and that is the long and short of it.”

“Where have you been this morning?” she asked in the same ominously calm voice.

“I have been to Honham Castle on a matter of business.”

“Oh, and yesterday you were there on a matter of pleasure.  Now did you happen to see Ida in the course of your business?”

“Yes,” he answered, looking her full in the face, “I did see her, what about it?”

“By appointment, I suppose.”

“No, not by appointment.  Have you done your catechism?”

“Yes—­and now I am going to preach a homily on it.  I see through you perfectly, Edward.  You are getting tired of me, and you want to be rid of me.  I tell you plainly that you are not going the right way to work about it.  No woman, especially if she be in my—­unfortunate position, can tamely bear to see herself discarded for another.  Certainly I cannot—­and I caution you—­I caution you to be careful, because when I think of such a thing I am not quite myself,” and suddenly, without the slightest warning (for her face had been hard and cold as stone), she burst into a flood of tears.

Now Edward Cossey was naturally somewhat moved at this sight.  Of course he did his best to console her, though with no great results, for she was still sobbing bitterly when suddenly there came a knock at the door.  Mrs. Quest turned her face towards the wall and pretended to be reading a letter, and he tried to look as unconcerned as possible.

“A telegram for you, sir,” said the girl with a sharp glance at her mistress.  “The telegraph boy brought it on here, when he heard that you were not at home, because he said he would be sure to find you here—­and please, sir, he hopes that you will give him sixpence for bringing it round, as he thought it might be important.”