"I've had—a wretched night," said Mrs. Fielding, and turned her face into the pillow with a sob.
Her maid glanced at Juliet with raised brows, and indicated the untouched breakfast with a shrug of helplessness.
Juliet came to the bedside. "What is it? Aren't you well?" she questioned.
"No, I'm wretched—miserable!" The words came muffled with sobs.
Juliet looked round. "All right, Cox. You can go. I will ring when you are wanted."
Cox went, leaving the despised breakfast behind her.
Juliet turned back to the bed, and found Mrs. Fielding weeping unrestrainedly. She bent over her, discarding all ceremony. "My dear girl, do stop!" she said. "What on earth is the matter? You won't get over it all day if you go on like this."
"Of course I shan't get over it!" sobbed Mrs. Fielding indignantly. "I never do. He knows that perfectly well. He knows—that when once I'm down—it takes me days—weeks—to get up again."
"Oh, dear!" said Juliet. "It's a quarrel, is it?"
Mrs. Fielding raised herself with a furious movement and thrust out a white arm on which the bruises of a fierce grip were mercilessly defined. "That's how—he—quarrels!" she said bitterly.