What was it I felt?  I could not define it.  Amazement, for one thing, that Maude with her traditional, Christian view of marriage should have come to such a decision.  I went to my room, undressed mechanically and got into bed....

She gave no sign at the breakfast table of having made the decision of the greatest moment in our lives; she conversed as usual, asked about the news, reproved the children for being noisy; and when the children had left the table there were no tears, reminiscences, recriminations.  In spite of the slight antagonism and envy of which I was conscious,—­that she was thus superbly in command of the situation, that she had developed her pinions and was thus splendidly able to use them,—­my admiration for her had never been greater.  I made an effort to achieve the frame of mind she suggested:  since she took it so calmly, why should I be tortured by the tragedy of it?  Perhaps she had ceased to love me, after all!  Perhaps she felt nothing but relief.  At any rate, I was grateful to her, and I found a certain consolation, a sop to my pride in the reflection that the initiative must have been hers to take.  I could not have deserted her.

“When do you think of leaving?” I asked.

“Two weeks from Saturday on the Olympic, if that is convenient for you.”  Her manner seemed one of friendly solicitude.  “You will remain in the house this summer, as usual, I suppose?”

“Yes,” I said.

It was a sunny, warm morning, and I went downtown in the motor almost blithely.  It was the best solution after all, and I had been a fool to oppose it....  At the office, there was much business awaiting me; yet once in a while, during the day, when the tension relaxed, the recollection of what had happened flowed back into my consciousness.  Maude was going!

I had telephoned Nancy, making an appointment for the afternoon.  Sometimes—­not too frequently—­we were in the habit of going out into the country in one of her motors, a sort of landaulet, I believe, in which we were separated from the chauffeur by a glass screen.  She was waiting for me when I arrived, at four; and as soon as we had shot clear of the city, “Maude is going away,” I told her.

“Going away?” she repeated, struck more by the tone of my voice than by what I had said.

“She announced last night that she was going abroad indefinitely.”

I had been more than anxious to see how Nancy would take the news.  A flush gradually deepened in her cheeks.

“You mean that she is going to leave you?”

“It looks that way.  In fact, she as much as said so.”

“Why?” said Nancy.

“Well, she explained it pretty thoroughly.  Apparently, it isn’t a sudden decision,” I replied, trying to choose my words, to speak composedly as I repeated the gist of our conversation.  Nancy, with her face averted, listened in silence—­a silence that continued some time after I had ceased to speak.