Adela allowed a week to pass before speaking of her desire to visit Mrs. Westlake.  In Mutimer a fit of sullenness had followed upon his settlement in lodgings.  He was away from home a good deal, but his hours of return were always uncertain, and Adela could not help thinking that he presented himself at unlikely times, merely for the sake of surprising her and discovering her occupation.  Once or twice she had no knowledge of his approach until he opened the door of the room; when she remarked on his having ascended the stairs so quietly, he professed not to understand her.  On one of those occasions she was engaged on a letter to her mother; he inquired to whom she was writing, and for reply she merely held out the sheet for his perusal.  He glanced at the superscription, and handed it back.  Breathing this atmosphere of suspicion, she shrank from irritating him by a mention of Stella, and to go without his express permission was impossible.  Stella did not write; Adela began to fear lest her illness had become more serious.  When she spoke at length, it was in one of the moments of indignation, almost of revolt, which at intervals came to her, she knew not at what impulse.  At Wanley her resource at such times had been to quit the house, and pace her chosen walk in the garden till she was weary.  In London she had no refuge, and the result of her loss of fresh air had speedily shown itself in moods of impatience which she found it very difficult to conquer.  Her husband came home one afternoon about five o’clock, and, refusing to have any tea, sat for several hours in complete silence; occasionally he pretended to look at a pamphlet which he had brought in with him, but for the most part he sat, with his legs crossed, frowning at vacancy.  Adela grew feverish beneath the oppression of this brooding ill-temper; her endeavour to read was vain; the silence was a constraint upon her moving, her breathing.  She spoke before she was conscious of an intention to do so.

‘I think I must go and see Mrs. Westlake to-morrow morning.’

Mutimer vouchsafed no answer, gave no sign of having heard.  She repeated the words.

‘If you must, you must.’

‘I wish to,’ Adela said with an emphasis she could not help.  ’Do you object to my going?’

He was surprised at her tone.

’I don’t object.  I’ve told you I think you get no good there.  But go if you like.’

She said after a silence: 

’I have no other friend in London; and if it were only on account of her kindness to me, I owe her a visit.’

’All right, don’t talk about it any more; I’m thinking of something.’

The evening wore on.  At ten o’clock the servant brought up a jug of beer, which she fetched for Mutimer every night; he said he could not sleep without this sedative.  It was always the sign for Adela to go to bed.

She visited Stella in the morning, and found her still suffering.  They talked for an hour, then it was time for Adela to hasten homewards, in order to have dinner ready by half-past one.  From Stella she had no secret, save the one which she did her best to make a secret even to herself; she spoke freely of her mode of life, though without comment.  Stella made no comments in her replies.