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there?”
    â€œWell, I mean—any jealousy or that—would be on the other side.” He paused, his voice changed. “You see, Kay, you and I treated Audrey damned badly. No, I don’t mean that. It was nothing to do with you. I treated her very badly. It’s no good just saying that I couldn’t help myself. I feel that if this could come off I’d feel better about the whole thing. It would make me a lot happier.”
    Kay said slowly: “So you haven’t been happy?”
    â€œDarling idiot, what do you mean? Of course I’ve been happy, radiantly happy. But—”
    Kay cut in.
    â€œ But —that’s it! There’s always been a ‘but’ in this house. Some damned creeping shadow about the place. Audrey’s shadow.”
    Nevile stared at her.
    â€œYou mean to say you’re jealous of Audrey?” he asked.
    â€œI’m not jealous of her. I’m afraid of her…Nevile, you don’t know what Audrey’s like.”
    â€œNot know what she’s like when I’ve been married to her for over eight years?”
    â€œYou don’t know,” Kay repeated, “what Audrey is like.”
    April 30th
    â€œPreposterous!” said Lady Tressilian. She drew herself up on her pillow and glared fiercely round the room. “Absolutely preposterous! Nevile must be mad.”
    â€œIt does seem rather odd,” said Mary Aldin.
    Lady Tressilian had a striking-looking profile with a slender bridged nose down which, when so inclined, she could look withtelling effect. Though now over seventy and in frail health, her native vigour of mind was in no way impaired. She had, it is true, long periods of retreat from life and its emotions when she would lie with half-closed eyes, but from these semi-comas she would emerge with all her faculties sharpened to the uttermost, and with an incisive tongue. Propped up by pillows in a large bed set across one corner of her room, she held her court like some French Queen. Mary Aldin, a distant cousin, lived with her and looked after her. The two women got on together excellently. Mary was thirty-six, but had one of those smooth ageless faces that change little with passing years. She might have been thirty or forty-five. She had a good figure, an air of breeding, and dark hair to which one lock of white across the front gave a touch of individuality. It was at one time a fashion, but Mary’s white lock of hair was natural and she had had it since her girlhood.
    She looked down now reflectively at Nevile Strange’s letter which Lady Tressilian had handed to her.
    â€œYes,” she said. “It does seem rather odd.”
    â€œYou can’t tell me,” said Lady Tressilian, “that this is Nevile’s own idea! Somebody’s put it into his head. Probably that new wife of his.”
    â€œKay. You think it was Kay’s idea?”
    â€œIt would be quite like her. New and vulgar! If husbands and wives have to advertise their difficulties in public and have recourse to divorce, then they might at least part decently. The new wife and the old wife making friends is quite disgusting in my mind. Nobody has any standards nowadays!”
    â€œI suppose it is just the modern way,” said Mary.
    â€œIt won’t happen in my house,” said Lady Tressilian. “I considerI’ve done all that could be asked of me having that scarlet-toed creature here at all.”
    â€œShe is Nevile’s wife.”
    â€œExactly. Therefore I felt that Matthew would have wished it. He was devoted to the boy and always wanted him to look on this as his home. Since to refuse to receive his wife would have made an open breach, I gave way and asked her here. I do not like her—she’s quite the wrong wife for Nevile—no background, no roots!”
    â€œShe’s quite well born,” said Mary placatingly.
    â€œBad stock!” said Lady Tressilian. “Her father, as