"I'm going to see her," Irene announced in resolute tones. "I used to have some influence over her, and I'm going to try and use it. I may do some good."
"In what direction, dear?" There was a touch of scepticism in Bowdon's voice.
"About Ashley Mead. I do believe everything could be made happy again. Frank, I'm not reconciled to Bertie Jewett yet."
Bowdon shook his head; he was reconciled to Bertie Jewett and to the tendency of events which involved the success of Bertie Jewett.
"And she ought to go back to her husband," Irene pursued.
The Modern Spirit had not, it must be presumed, left Lord Bowdon entirely untouched, else he could not have dissented from this dictum; or was it only that a very vivid remembrance of Mr. Fenning rose in his mind?
"I'm hanged if she ought," he said emphatically. "And if you only knew what the fellow's like—" He came to a sharp stop; his wife's surprised eyes were set on his face.
"You don't know what he's like, you've never seen him; you told me so, long ago, when I first got to know her." Lord Bowdon appeared embarrassed. "Wasn't it true?" asked Irene severely.
"Yes, it was true," he answered, and truly, for, at the time he said it, it had been true.