With the manufacturing department he had nothing to do; he tried to think himself free from responsibility; for, in spite of amiable qualities, he was a man of business, and saw a great part of life through the commercial spectacles commonly worn now-a-days.  Nevertheless conscience unsettled him.  One day he heard his partners joking over the legislative omission by virtue of which they were able to adulterate their disinfectants to any extent without fear of penalty; their laughter grated upon him, and he got out of the way.  If he could lay aside a few thousands of pounds, assuredly his connection with the affair should be terminated.  So he lived, for his own part, on a pound a week, and informed Ada through his solicitor that she must be satisfied with a certain very moderate allowance.

Mrs. Peachey naturally laid herself out to give every one as much trouble as possible.  Insulting post-cards showered upon her husband at his place of business.  After a few weeks she discovered his lodging, and addressed the post-cards thither; but she made no attempt at personal molestation.  The loss of her child gave her not the slightest concern, yet she determined to find out where the boy was living.  She remembered that Peachey had relatives at Canterbury, and after a troublesome search succeeded in her purpose.  An interview with her husband’s married sister proved so unsatisfactory to Ada, that she had recourse to her familiar weapons, rage, insult, and menace; with the result that she was forcibly removed, and made a scandal in the quiet street.

Then she consulted men of law, and found one who encouraged her to sue for restitution of conjugal rights.  It came to nothing, however; for in the meantime she was growing tired of her solitary existence, —­friends of course she had none,—­and the spirit moved her to try a change of tactics.

She wrote a long, long letter, penitent, tear-bestained.  ’I have behaved outrageously to you, dearest Arthur; I must have been mad to say and do such things.  The doctor tells me that my health has been in a very bad state for a long time, and I really don’t remember half that has happened.  You were quite right when you told me that I should be better if I didn’t live such an idle life, and I have quite, quite made up my mind to be an industrious and a good woman.  All yesterday I spent in needlework and crying.  Oh, the tears that I have shed!  My darling husband, what can I do to win your forgiveness?  Do consider how lonely I am in this house.  Beatrice has been horrid to me.  If I said all I think about her, she wouldn’t like to hear it; but I am learning to control my tongue.  She lives alone in a flat, and has men to spend every evening with her; it’s disgraceful!  And there’s Fanny, who I am sure is leading an immoral life abroad.  Of course I shall never speak to her again.  You were quite right when you said my sisters were worthless.’—­Peachey had never permitted himself any such remark.—­’I will have no one but you, my dear, good, sweet husband.’