“But if it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else!” said Mrs. Clowes simply.  “At one time it was Val:  then it was Dr. Verney’s junior partner, who attended me for influenza while Dr. Verney was away:  and once it was a young chauffeur we had, who happened to be a University man.  I did get rid of him, because he found out, and that made everything so awkward.  But I couldn’t get rid of Val, and in many ways I was most unwilling to let you go,—­you did him so much good.  But I’d made up my mind to turn you out:  Yvonne was at me—­” she paused—­“yes, it really was only yesterday!  I promised her to speak to you this morning.  Well, I’ve done it!”

“Did you explain to Bernard that Selincourt and Isabel were with us all the time?”

“He talked me down.”

“He must be made to listen to reason.”

“He won’t:  not yet.  Later, perhaps, but not in time to save the situation.  Never mind, you’re not married, and if he does divorce me people will only say ‘Another Selincourt gone wrong.’” A dreary and rather cynical gleam of humour played over Laura’s lips.  “I’m sorry mainly for Yvonne, Jack’s people are so particular; they hated the marriage, and now, when she’s lived it all down and made them fond of her, I must needs go and compromise myself and drag our wretched family into the mud again!”

“Good heavens! he can’t propose to divorce you?”

“He said he would.”

Bit by bit it was all coming out, the cruel and sordid drama played before an audience of housemaids, as one admission led to another and her strength revived for the ordeal.  Lawrence shuddered and sat silent, trying to gauge the extent of the mischief.  “What can I do?” said Laura.  She looked down at herself and blushed again.  “I do feel so—­so disreputable in these clothes.  I haven’t even been able to wash my face and hands or tidy my hair since I left the hotel.”

“Have you been wandering about in the drive all this time?”

“I suppose so.  I was afraid to go into the road in such a pickle.”

“These infernal clothes!” Lawrence burst out exasperated.  Their wretched plight was reduced to farce by the fact that they were locked out of their bedrooms, unable to get at their wardrobes, their soaps and sponges and brushes, his collars, her hairpins, all those trifles of the toilette without which civilized man can scarcely feel himself civilized.  Most of these wants the vicarage could supply; but to reach the vicarage they had to cross the road.  Lawrence got up and stood looking down at Laura.  “Can you trust your maid?”

“Trust her?  I can’t trust her not to gossip.  She’s a nice girl and a very good maid, but I’ve only had her a year.”

“Silly question!  One doesn’t trust servants nowadays.  My man’s a scamp, but I can depend on him up to a certain point because I pay him well.  Anyhow we must make the best of a bad job.  If I cut straight down from here I shall get into the tradesmen’s drive, shan’t I?”