“At any rate, that is what he implied, and wished to imply!”
“But I am his wife! We were married at St. Mary Abbotts, Kensington, a year ago; and there were nearly three hundred people at our wedding.”
“Then what did he mean?”
“I think I can explain,” she said, suddenly whipping up Fat Tom. “He wanted absolute solitude and leisure in order to finish his book. We left our flat in London for Brighton; but there we seemed to have as many friends as ever—people, especially my women pals, running in and out all day. We went to Edinburgh, and there the literary world lionised him. At last, when in despair, he saw an advertisement of Beckwell, and we moved here. When Canon Simpson accosted him, and told him that all the neighbourhood was coming to call, I expect he felt desperate, and just closed the door with my good name! Oh yes, I see everything so plainly now. Why people look over my head, and cross the street! Why Annie was insolent. Why I was not invited to help at the bazaar; and why young men kiss their hands to me! I understand why my husband was anxious to turn the conversation when I complained of being dull; and was so full of excuses for the neighbours. He holds my reputation at a lower price than his book. Well—we shall see about that!”
“I think he has behaved disgracefully, in a most shocking manner,” burst out her companion, “and I’m not at all surprised that you are upset.”
“Upset!” repeated the other, with an hysterical laugh. “I shall not be as much ‘upset’ as Julian, when we have squared up accounts.
“Well, here we are. I think this is your house.” She drew up as she spoke, helped the lady to descend, and lifted out the bicycle. “I am immensely obliged to you,” she said, cutting short the other’s voluble thanks; “if I have given you a lift—you have opened my eyes.”
Then, without another word, she got into the cart and drove away.
All that evening Helen was strangely white and silent; she complained of having a violent headache, and soon retired.
The Professor, unaware of the Sword of Damocles that was suspended above his head, started early next morning for London, in order to have an interview with his publisher. When he returned it was nine o’clock at night, and an appetising little supper awaited him. As soon as it was concluded he withdrew as usual into the study. The fire was out. The grate was full of ashes and scraps of paper—it looked as if a large bundle of manuscripts had recently been burnt!