Mrs. Jordan had friends in the neighbourhood, but she saw little of them.  She was not a woman of ordinary tastes.  Everything proved that, to her mind, the possession of a nice house, with the prospects of a comfortable life, was an end in itself; she had no desire to exhibit her well-furnished rooms, or to gad about talking of her advantages.  Every moment of her day was taken up in the superintendence of servants, the discharge of an infinitude of housewifely tasks.  She had no assistance from her daughter; the girl went to school, and was encouraged to study with the utmost application.  The husband’s presence in the house seemed a mere accident—­save in the still nocturnal season, when Mrs. Jordan bestowed upon him her counsel and her admonitions.

After the lapse of a few days Mr. Jordan again offered combat, and threw himself into it with a frenzy.

‘Look here!’ he shouted at length, ’either you or I are going to leave this house.  I can’t live with you—­understand?  I hate the sight of you!’

‘Go on!’ retorted the other, with mild bitterness.  ’Abuse me as much as you like, I can bear it.  I shall continue to do my duty, and unless you have recourse to personal violence, here I remain.  If you go too far, of course the law must defend me!’

This was precisely what Mr. Jordan knew and dreaded; the law was on his wife’s side, and by applying at a police-court for protection she could overwhelm him with shame and ridicule, which would make life intolerable.  Impossible to argue with this woman.  Say what he might, the fault always seemed his.  His wife was simply doing her duty—­in a spirit of admirable thoroughness; he, in the eyes of a third person, would appear an unreasonable and violent curmudgeon.  Had it not all sprung out of his obstinacy with regard to reading at breakfast?  How explain to anyone what he suffered in his nerves, in his pride, in the outraged habitudes of a lifetime?

That evening he did not return to Wood Green.  Afraid of questions if he showed himself in the old resorts, he spent some hours in a billiard-room near King’s Cross, and towards midnight took a bedroom under the same roof.  On going to business next day, he awaited with tremors either a telegram or a visit from his wife; but the whole day passed, and he heard nothing.  After dark he walked once more about the beloved streets, pausing now and then to look up at the windows of this or that well remembered house.  Ah, if he durst but enter and engage a lodging!  Impossible—­for ever impossible!

He slept in the same place as on the night before.  And again a day passed without any sort of inquiry from Wood Green.  When evening came he went home.

Mrs. Jordan behaved as though he had returned from business in the usual way.  ‘Is it raining?’ she asked, with a half-smile.  And her husband replied, in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could command, ’No, it isn’t.’  There was no mention between them of his absence.  That night, Mrs. Jordan talked for an hour or two of his bad habit of stepping on the paint when he went up and down stairs, then fell calmly asleep.