Through the evening he was in a state of transport, due partly to the belief that Monica really welcomed his decision, partly to the sense of having behaved at length like a resolute man.  His eyes were severely bloodshot, and before bedtime headache racked him intolerably.

Everything was carried out as he had planned it.  They journeyed down into Somerset, put up at a Clevedon hotel, and began house-hunting.  On Wednesday the suitable abode was discovered—­a house of modest pretensions, but roomy and well situated.  It could be made ready for occupation in a fortnight.  Bent on continuing his exhibition of vigorous promptitude, Widdowson signed a lease that same evening.

’To-morrow we will go straight home and make our preparations for removal.  When all is ready, you shall come down here and live at the hotel until the house is furnished.  Go to your sister Virginia and simply bid her do as you wish.  Imitate me!’ He laughed fatuously.  ’Don’t listen to any objection.  When you have once got her away she will thank you.’

By Thursday afternoon they were back at Herne Hill.  Widdowson still kept up the show of extravagant spirits, but he was worn out.  He spoke so hoarsely that one would have thought he had contracted a severe sore throat; it resulted merely from nervous strain.  After a pretence of dinner, he seated himself as if to read; glancing at him a few minutes later, Monica found that he was fast asleep.

She could not bear to gaze at him, yet her eyes turned thither again and again.  His face was repulsive to her; the deep furrows, the red eyelids, the mottled skin moved her to loathing.  And yet she pitied him.  His frantic exultation was the cruelest irony.  What would he do?  What would become of him?  She turned away, and presently left the room, for the sound of his uneasy breathing made her suffer too much.

When he woke up, he came in search of her, and laughed over his involuntary nap.

‘Well, now, you will go and see your sister to-morrow morning.’

‘In the afternoon, I think.’

’Why?  Don’t let us have any procrastination.  The morning, the morning!’

‘Please do let me have my way in such a trifle as that,’ Monica exclaimed nervously.  ’I have all sorts of things to see to here before I can go out.’

He caressed her.

’You shan’t say that I am unreasonable.  In the afternoon, then.  And don’t listen to any objections.’

‘No, no.’

* * * * * * * * * *

It was Friday.  All the morning Widdowson had business with house agents and furniture removers, for he would not let a day go by without some practical step towards release from the life he detested.  Monica seemed to be equally active in her own department; she was turning out drawers and wardrobes, and making selection of things—­on some principle understood by herself.  A flush remained upon her cheeks, in marked contrast to the pallor which for a long time had given her an appearance of wasting away.  That and her singularly bright eyes endowed her with beauty suggestive of what she might have gained in happy marriage.