Toby flinched a little. "My home isn't anywhere then," she said. "When I left him, it was—for good."
"Why did you leave him?" said Larpent.
Toby's lips set in a firm line, and she made no answer.
Larpent waited a few moments; then: "It's no matter for my interference," he said. "But it seems to me you've made a mistake in one particular. You don't realize why he married you."
Toby made a small passionate movement of protest. "He ought not to have done it," she said, in a low voice. "I ought not to have let him. I thought I could play the part. I know now I can't. And—he knows it too."
"I think you'll have to play the part," Larpent said.
"No!" She spoke with vehemence. "It's quite impossible. He has been far too good—far too generous. But it shan't go on. He's got to set me free. If he doesn't—" she stopped abruptly.
"Well? If he doesn't?" Larpent's voice was unwontedly gentle, and there was compassion in his look.
Toby's eyes avoided his. "I'll find—a way for myself," she said almost inarticulately.
Larpent's fingers tightened again upon the thin young arm. "It's no good fighting Fate," he said. "Why has it become impossible? Just because he knows all about you? Do you suppose that—or anything else—is going to make any difference at this stage? Do you imagine he would let you go—for that?"