‘It is too late for that now, Lady Milborough.’

’Too late!  Oh no.  She has been foolish, indiscreet, disobedient—­what you will of that kind.  But, Louis, don’t send her away; don’t send your young wife away from you.  Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’

’I cannot consent to live with a wife with whom neither my wishes nor my word have the slightest effect.  I may believe of her what I please; but, think what the world will believe!  I cannot disgrace myself by living with a woman who persists in holding intercourse with a man whom the world speaks of as her lover.’

‘Take her to Naples,’ said Lady Milborough, with all the energy of which she was capable.

’I can take her nowhere, nor will I see her, till she has given proof that her whole conduct towards me has been altered.  I have written a letter to her, and I have brought it.  Will you excuse me if I ask you to take the trouble to read it?’

Then he handed Lady Milborough the letter, which she read very slowly, and with much care.

‘I don’t think I would—­would—­would—­’

‘Would what?’ demanded Trevelyan.

’Don’t you think that what you say is a little—­just a little—­prone to make to make the breach perhaps wider?’

‘No, Lady Milborough.  In the first place, how can it be wider?’

’You might take her back, you know; and then if you could only get to Naples!’

‘How can I take her back while she is corresponding with this man?’

‘She wouldn’t correspond with him at Naples.’

Trevelyan shook his head and became cross.  His old friend would not at all do as old friends are expected to do when called upon for advice.

‘I think,’ said he, ’that what I have proposed is both just and generous.’

‘But, Louis, why should there be any separation?’

‘She has forced it upon me.  She is headstrong, and will not be ruled.’

‘But this about disgracing you.  Do you think that you must say that?’

’I think I must, because it is true.  If I do not tell her the truth, who is there that will do so?  It may be bitter now, but I think that it is for her welfare.’

‘Dear, dear, dear!’

‘I want nothing for myself, Lady Milborough.’

‘I am sure of that, Louis.’

’My whole happiness was in my home.  No man cared less for going out than I did.  My child and my wife were everything to me.  I don’t suppose that I was ever seen at a club in the evening once throughout a season.  And she might have had anything that she liked—­anything!  It is hard; Lady Milborough; is it not?’

Lady Milborough, who had seen the angry brow, did not dare to suggest Naples again.  But yet, if any word might be spoken to prevent this utter wreck of a home, how good a thing it would be!  He had got up to leave her, but she stopped him by holding his hand.