But it was not to Mrs. Birks that she paid her first visit.  Though it was clear that Beatrice firmly believed all she said, Mrs. Baxendale could not accept this as positive assurance; before taking upon herself to announce such a piece of news she felt the need of some further testimony.  She had a difficulty in reconciling precipitate action of this kind with Wilfrid’s character as it had of late years developed itself; political, even social, ambition had become so pronounced in him that it was difficult to imagine him turning with such sudden vehemence from the path in which every consideration of interest would tend to hold him.  The best of women worship success, and though Mrs. Baxendale well knew that Wilfrid’s aims had suffered a degradation, she could not, even apart from her feeling for Beatrice, welcome his return to the high allegiance of former days, when it would surely check or altogether terminate a brilliant career.  The situation had too fantastic a look.  Could it be that Beatrice was suffering from some delusion?  Had a chance discovery of Emily Hood’s proximity, together perhaps with some ambiguous behaviour on Wilfrid’s part, affected her mind?  It was an extreme supposition, but on the whole as easy of acceptance as the story Beatrice had poured forth.

In pursuit of evidence Mrs. Baxendale drove to the Athels’.  It was about luncheon-time.  She inquired for Wilfrid, and heard with mingled feelings that he was at home.  She found him in his study; he had before him a little heap of letters, the contents of a packet he had found on his table on entering a quarter of an hour before.

Mrs. Baxendale regarded him observantly.  The results of her examination led her to come to the point at once.

‘I have just left Beatrice,’ she said.  ’She has been telling me an extraordinary story.  Do you know what it was?’

‘She has told you the truth,’ Wilfrid replied, simply.

‘And you were married this morning?’

Wilfrid bent his head in assent.

Mrs. Baxendale seated herself.

‘My dear Wilfrid,’ were her next words, ’you have been guilty of what is commonly called a dishonourable action.’

’I fear I have.  I can only excuse myself by begging you to believe that no other course was open to me.  I have simply cut a hard knot.  It was better than wasting my own life and others’ lives in despair at its hopelessness.’

Wilfrid was collected.  The leap taken, he felt his foot once more on firm ground.  He felt, too, that he had left behind him much of which he was heartily ashamed.  He was in no mood to feign an aspect of contrition.

‘You will admit,’ observed the lady, ’that this Cutting of the knot makes a rather harsh severance.’

’It would be impertinent to say that I am sorry for Beatrice.  Her behaviour to me has been incredibly magnanimous, and I feel sure that her happiness as well as my own has been consulted.  I don’t know in what sense she has spoken to you—­’