“I said ‘I’m your wife.’  He said ‘I have no wife.’  And he called me—­coarse names, words I couldn’t repeat to any one.  I couldn’t answer him.  Then he said ‘Where’s Hyde?  Are you there, Hyde?’ and that you were a coward or you wouldn’t stand by and hear him calling me a—­what he had called me.  So I told him you weren’t there, that you had gone back with Isabel and Val.  He said:  after you had had all you wanted out of me—­I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.  Go on, dear:  tell me all about it.”

“But ought I to?” said Laura, raising her dimmed eyes to his face.  “It’s such a horrible story to tell a man, especially the very man who—­I feel so queer, Lawrence:  don’t let me say anything I ought not!”

“Laura dear, whatever you say is sacred to me.  Besides, I’m your cousin by marriage, and it’s my business to think and act for you:  let me help you into this alley.”  A little further on there was a by-path through the shrubberies, and Lawrence drew her towards it, but her limbs were giving way under her, and after a momentary hesitation he carried her into it in his arms.  “There:  sit on this bank.  Lean on me,” he sat down by her.  “Is that better?”

“Oh yes:  thank you:  I’m so glad to be out of the drive,” said Laura, letting her head fall, like a child, on his shoulder.  “I seem to have been there such a long while.  I didn’t know where to go.  Once a tradesman’s cart drove by, the butcher’s it was:  you know Bernard gets so cross because they will drive this way to save the long round by the stables.  He stared at me, but I didn’t know what to do.”  Lawrence repressed a groan:  it would be all over the village then, there was no help for it.  “Where was I to go in these clothes?  I did wish you would come, I always feel so safe with you.”

Lawrence silently stroked her hair.  His heart was riven.  “So safe?” and this was all his doing.

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes.”

“And he refused to open it?”

“No, he did open it.”

“He did open it, do you say?”

“Yes, because—­oh, my head.”

“You aren’t hurt anywhere, are you?” asked Lawrence, feeling cold to his fingertips.

“No, no,” she roused herself, dimly sensible of his anxiety, “it’s only that I feel faint, but it’s passing off.  No, I don’t want any water!  I’d far rather you stayed with me.  It’s such a comfort to have you here.”  Lawrence was speechless.  Her hands went to her hair.  “Oh dear, I wish I weren’t so untidy!  Never mind, I shall be all right directly:  it does me more good than anything else just to tell you about it.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“The door was locked,” she continued languidly but a thought more clearly, “and the chain was up and Bernard’s couch was drawn across inside.  He must have got Barry to wheel it over.  When I begged him to let me in he unlocked the door but left it on the chain so that it would only open a few inches.  I tried to push my way in, but he held me back.”