"Stop it," he thundered, "she-devil that you are, consumed by your disgusting lust for gold. Once for all I refuse to be coerced by you. Do I not know right from wrong? This property is Gerald's, and whatever the consequences, to him it goes."
"Very well; I have warned you. Now I know what to do."
She entered the dressing-room and banged the door behind her. For some minutes he stood staring blankly at it. Then he quietly went downstairs.
He saw no more of her that night. She had her dinner sent up to her room, and refused to see him. He dined, therefore, at the restaurant instead of in their private room. In spite of his self-control he could not eat. He realised full well what this loss meant, not so much to himself—five hundred a year and his pay was all-sufficient for him—but to Miriam, and to Gerald, yes, and to the paltry little woman who, after all, was his wife. Yet the more he pondered over it, the more convinced he became that there was but one course open to him. There need be no scandal about Julia; that must be hushed up somehow; but Gerald must have his own.
He lit a cigar at the table, and turned the thing over in his mind for another quarter of an hour. Then he called a cab, and drove straight to Rosary Mansions.
It was nearly ten o'clock when he arrived, yet strange to say Gerald was at home—thanks to Hilda. But the Major of course did not know to what he might attribute this return to the domestic hearth on the part of Master Gerald, and gave him all credit for it. He was sorely grieved to think that his news more than anything else, was calculated to bring about a speedy return to the old order of things.
As for Miriam, she had been in nowise deceived by her husband's action. She had made a pretty shrewd guess at the sort of thing that had passed between him and his former lady-love. His expression had been quite enough to show her he had been dismissed, and she valued his presence accordingly.
The Major's ring roused them both. It was one of the "cook-general's" three nights out—she having with great resignation remained in the previous evening, "though it was Sunday and all"—so Gerald himself went to the door.
"Hullo, Dundas, is it you?—why, what brings you out here at this time?—nothing wrong I hope?"
"No; I've no doubt you'll think it's very right, so far as you're concerned; but it's important, or I need hardly say I wouldn't be here. The fact is, the will's found."