“I am not happy here,—­in this house.”

“And who chose the house?  Did I want to come here?  But it is not that.  If you are not happy here, what could you have in any other house to make you happy?”

“If you were left alone in this room for seven or eight hours at a time, without a soul to come to you, you would know what I mean.  And even after that, it is not much better.  You never speak to me when you are here.”

“Is it my fault that nobody comes to you?  The fact is, Alexandrina, that you will not reconcile yourself to the manner of life which is suitable to my income.  You are wretched because you cannot have yourself driven round the Park.  I cannot find you a carriage, and will not attempt to do so.  You may go to Baden-Baden, if you please;—­that is, if your mother is willing to take you.”

“Of course I must pay my own expenses,” said Alexandrina.  But to this he made no answer on the moment.  As soon as he had given his permission he had risen from his seat and was going, and her last words only caught him in the doorway.  After all, would not this be the cheapest arrangement that he could make?  As he went through his calculations he stood up, with his elbow on the mantel-piece, in his dressing-room.  He had scolded his wife because she had been unhappy with him; but had he not been quite as unhappy with her?  Would it not be better that they should part in this quiet, half-unnoticed way;—­that they should part and never again come together?  He was lucky in this, that hitherto had come upon them no prospect of any little Crosbie to mar the advantages of such an arrangement.  If he gave her four hundred a year, and allowed Gazebee two more towards the paying off of encumbrances, he would still have six on which to enjoy himself in London.  Of course he could not live as he had lived in those happy days before his marriage, nor, independently of the cost, would such a mode of life be within his reach.  But he might go to his club for his dinners; he might smoke his cigar in luxury; he would not be bound to that wooden home which, in spite of all his resolutions, had become almost unendurable to him.  So he made his calculations, and found that it would be well that his bride should go.  He would give over his house and furniture to Gazebee, allowing Gazebee to do as he would about that.  To be once more a bachelor, in lodgings, with six hundred a year to spend on himself, seemed to him now such a prospect of happiness that he almost became light-hearted as he dressed himself.  He would let her go to Baden-Baden.

There was nothing said about it at dinner, nor did he mention the subject again till the servant had left the tea-things on the drawing-room table.  “You can go with your mother if you like it,” he then said.

“I think it will be best,” she answered.

“Perhaps it will.  At any rate you shall suit yourself.”

“And about money?”

“You had better leave me to speak to Gazebee about that.”