sense would have taught him that better than he as yet knew it; the fear of losing her respect was not attributable solely to his restless egoism.  He had wedded her in quite another frame of mind than that in which he now found himself when he thought of her.  He cared much for the high opinion of people in general; Adela was all but indispensable to him.  When he said, ‘My wife,’ he must have been half-conscious that the word bore a significance different from that he had contemplated.  On the lips of those among whom he had grown up the word is desecrated, or for the most part so; it has contemptible, and ridiculous, and vile associations, scarcely ever its true meaning.  Formerly he would have laughed at the thought of standing in awe of his wife; nay, he could not have conceived the possibility of such a thing; it would have appeared unnatural, incompatible with the facts of wedded life.  Yet he sat here and almost dreaded to enter her presence.

A man of more culture might have thought:  A woman cannot in her heart be revolted because another has been cast off for her.  Mutimer could not reason so far.  It would have been reasoning inapplicable to Adela, but from a certain point of view it might have served as a resource.  Richard could only accept his instincts.

But it was useless to postpone the interview; come of it what would, he must have it over and done with.  He could not decide how to speak until he knew what the contents of Kate’s letter were.  He was nervously anxious to know.

Adela sat in her boudoir, with a book open on her lap.  After the first glance on his entering she kept her eyes down.  He sauntered up and stood before her in an easy attitude.

‘Who has been writing to you from London?’ he at once asked, abruptly in consequence of the effort to speak without constraint.

Adela was not prepared for such a question.  She remembered all at once that Alice had seen the letter as it lay on the table.  Why had Alice spoken to her brother about it?  There could be only one explanation of that, and of his coming thus directly.  She raised her eyes for a moment, and a slight shock seemed to affect her.

She was unconscious how long she delayed her reply.

‘Can’t you tell me?’ Richard said, with more roughness than he intended.  He was suffering, and suffering affected his temper.

Adela drew the letter from her pocket and in silence handed it to him.  He read it quickly, and, before the end was reached, had promptly chosen his course.

‘What do you think of this?’ was his question, as he folded the letter and rolled it in his hand.  He was smiling, and enjoyed complete self-command.

‘I cannot think,’ fell from Adela’s lips.  ’I am waiting for jour words.’

He noticed at length, now he was able to inspect her calmly, that she looked faint, pain-stricken.

‘Alice told me who had written to you,’ Richard pursued, in his frankest tones.  ’It was well she saw the letter; you might have said nothing.’