The listener arched his eyebrows more and more.

‘What can it matter to you?’

’To be sure, I have no acquaintance with any one who could do such things—­’

’Why, of course not.  And even if you had, I understand that the girl is long out of her teens—­’

‘Long since.’

’Then it’s her own affair—­and that of the man who cares to purchase such amusement.  By-the-bye, it happens rather oddly that I myself have to run over to Brussels on business; but I trust’—­he laughed—­’that my years and my character—­’

’Oh, Mr. Mankelow, absurd!  It’s probably some commercial traveller, or man of that sort, don’t you think?  The one thing I do hope is, that, if anything like this happens, the girl will somehow make it clear to her friends that I had no knowledge whatever of what was going on.  But that can hardly be hoped, I fear!—­’

Their eyes crossed; they stood for a moment perusing vacancy.

‘Yes, I think it might be hoped,’ said Mankelow airily.  ’She seemed to me a rather reckless sort of young person.  It’s highly probable she will write letters which release every one but herself from responsibility.  In fact’—­he gazed at her with a cynical smile—­ ’my knowledge of human nature disposes me to assure you that she certainly will.  She might even, I should say, write a letter to you—­perhaps a cheeky sort of letter, which would at once set your mind at ease.’

‘Oh, if you really take that view—­’

’I do indeed.  Don’t you think we might dismiss the matter, and dine?’

They did so.

Until noon of to-day, Mrs. Peachey had kept her bed, lying amid the wreck wrought by last night’s madness.  She then felt well enough to rise, and after refreshment betook herself by cab to the offices of Messrs Ducker, Blunt & Co., manufacturers of disinfectants, where she conversed with one of the partners, and learnt that her husband had telegraphed his intention to be absent for a day or two.  Having, with the self-respect which distinguished her, related her story from the most calumnious point of view, she went home again to nurse her headache and quarrel with Fanny.  But Fanny had in the meantime left home, and, unaccountable fact, had taken with her a large tin box and a dress-basket; heavily packed, said the servants.  Her direction to the cabman was merely Westminster Bridge, which conveyed to Mrs. Peachey no sort of suggestion.

When Beatrice came back, and learnt this event, she went apart in wrathful gloom.  Ada could not engage her in a quarrel.  It was a wretchedly dull evening.

They talked next morning, and Beatrice announced her purpose of going to live by herself as soon as possible.  But she would not quarrel.  Left alone, Ada prepared to visit certain of their relatives in different parts of London, to spread among them the news of her husband’s infamy.

CHAPTER 6