Not that the rules always led you right—­witness De Pastourelles and his villainies.  But matrimonial anarchy was not to be justified, any more than social anarchy, by the failures and drawbacks of arrangements which were on the whole for people’s good. Passe encore!—­if Fenwick had only fulfilled the promise of his youth!—­were at least a successful artist, instead of promising to become a quarrelsome failure!

Now if Arthur himself were free!  Supposing this poor girl were to succumb?—­what then?

At this point Lord Findon checked himself roughly, and a minute afterwards was shaking Welby by the hand and stooping with an old man’s courtesy over the invalid carriage in which Mrs. Welby lay reclined.

Euphrosyne, indeed, had shed her laughter!  A face with sunken eyes and drawn lips, and with that perpetual suspicious furrow in the brow, which meant a terror lest any movement or jar should let loose the enemy, pain; an emaciated body, from which all the soft mouldings of youth had departed; a frail hand, lying in mute appeal on the shawl with which she was covered:—­this was now Elsie Welby, whose beauty in the first years of her marriage had been one of the adornments of London.

Eugenie was bending over her, and Mrs. Welby was pettishly answering.

’It’s so stiff and formal.  I don’t admire this kind of thing.  And there isn’t a bit of shade on this terrace. I think it’s ugly!’

Welby laid a hand on hers, smiling.

‘But to-day, Bebe, you like the sun?—­in October?’

Mrs. Welby was very decidedly of opinion that even in October there was a glare—­and in August—­she shuddered to think of it!  It was so tiresome, too, to have missed the Grandes Eaux.  So like French red tape, to insist on stopping them on a particular date.  Why should they be stopped?  As to expense, that was nonsense.  How could water cost anything!  It was because the French were so doctrinaire, so tyrannical—­so fond of managing for managing’s sake.

So the pettish voice rambled on, the others tenderly and sadly listening, till presently Lord Findon shook his gaunt shoulders.

’Upon my word, it begins to get cold.  With your leave, Elsie, I could do with a little more sun!  Arthur, shall we take a brisk walk round the canal before tea?’

Welby looked anxiously at his wife.  She had closed her eyes, and her pale lips, tightly shut, made no movement.

‘I think I promised Elsie to stay with her,’ he said, uncertainly.

‘Let me stay with Elsie, please,’ said Eugenie.

The blue eyes unclosed.

‘Don’t be more than an hour, Arthur,’ said the young wife, ungraciously.  ‘You know I asked Mrs. Westmacott to tea.’

The gentlemen walked off, and a sharp sensation impressed upon Madame de Pastourelles that Arthur was only allowed to go with Lord Findon, because she was not of the party.