She had little or no hope of his ever making her the only possible reparation.  Ruin, disgrace, stared her in the face.  And after all the fine hopes with which she had embarked on life!  Her pride revolted at this promise of hapless degradation.  Anything rather than that.  There was but one way to avoid such a fate, not only for her, but for the new life within her.  The roar and rush of the express, when she had crossed the footbridge at the station, sounded hopefully in her ears.

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t!” he repeated.

“Indeed?” she said mechanically.

“Is there?  After all that’s happened, what difference can it make?” he persisted, as he reached for a cigarette.

“What difference can it make?” she repeated dully.

“Good!  Dear little Mavis!  Have another cigarette.”

Unseen by him, she had caught up coat, gloves, and hat, and moved towards the door.  Here she had paused, finding it hard to leave him whom she loved unreservedly for other women to caress and care for.

The words, “What difference can it make?” decided her.  They spurred her along the short, quick road which was to end in peaceful oblivion.  She opened the door noiselessly, and slipped down the stairs and out of the front door with out being seen by any of the hotel people.  Once in the street, where a drizzle was falling, she turned to the right in the direction of the station.  It seemed a long way.  She would have liked to have stepped from the room, in which she had been with Perigal, on to the rails before the passing express.  She hurried on.  Although it was Saturday night, there were few people about, the bad weather keeping many indoors who would otherwise be out.  She was within a few paces of the booking office when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Don’t stop me!  Let me go!” she cried.

“Where to?” asked Perigal’s voice.

She pressed forward.

“Don’t be a little fool.  Are you mad?  Stop!”

He forced her to a standstill.

“Now come back,” he said.

“No.  Let me go.”

“Are you so mad as to do anything foolish?”

By way of reply, she made a vain effort to free herself.  He tried to reason with her, but nothing he urged could change her resolution.  Her face was expressionless; her eyes dull; her mind appeared to be obsessed by a determination to take her life.  He changed his tactics.

“Very well, then,” he said, “come along.”

She looked at him, surprised, as she started off.

“Where you go, I go; whatever you do, I do.”

She paused to say: 

“If you’d let me have my own way, I should be now out of my misery.”

“You only think of yourself,” he cried.  “You don’t mind what would happen to me if you—­if you—!”

“A lot you’d care!” she interrupted.

“Don’t talk rot.  It’s coming down worse than ever.  Come back to the hotel.”