Her footsteps echoed on the bare boards. More by instinct than anything else, she called her husband by name. She could hear her voice echoing from room to room. She knew now that the place was absolutely and entirely bare. Then there was the sound of an answering footfall and John Charlock stood by the side of his wife in the dismantled drawing-room.
"Well," he said, "and what do you think of it? I promised you a surprise, and here it is. For days I have been expecting the creditor who holds the bill of sale to carry out his threat and remove everything. This morning he informed me what he was going to do, and he has done it. Save your own belongings, which are packed away in your dressing-room, the house is empty. I didn't tell you this before, because I did not wish to spoil your holiday. But you will see that it is impossible to remain. Fortunately, the cottage is ready. Now, if you will dry your eyes and try to play the woman, we will go off together where we can have a roof over our heads and no more of this sickening anxiety for the future. Come."
Charlock held out his hand, but the woman shrank from him. There was terror as well as grief in her eyes. She shuddered with loathing from head to foot. She could not do it. Come what might, she could not do it. In her heart of hearts she had never expected such a crushing blow. It was so like John Charlock to spring it on her in this cruel fashion.
"No," she said, as she wiped the tears angrily from her cheeks. "Between you and me there is an end of all things. I am not coming with you. If I were starving at this moment I would decline to cross the threshold of your cottage. Oh, you need not worry. I shall make a living somehow. To-night I shall stay with Mrs. Bromley-Martin and ask her advice and assistance. Henceforward our lives shall be spent apart."
"And that is your last word?" Charlock asked.
"I have no more to say, except good-bye."
Charlock turned and strode resolutely from the house. There was a queer smile on his face, though his heart was hot and angry. He passed out through the gates in the direction of his cottage. He gave no heed to his wife standing in the deserted home. And he had gone out of her mind directly.
What was she to do? How would the next chapter in the story read? She had spoken bravely enough about her friend Mrs. Bromley-Martin, but she knew in her heart of hearts how shallow and insincere all the so-called friendships in her own set were. Still, she was not penniless. Her husband had told her where she would find all her belongings, and her jewels were worth some hundreds of pounds. She would gather those together and go and stay at a hotel for the night. She was still debating the matter in her mind when she heard footsteps in the hall, and her courage deserted her for the moment. She drew a breath of something more than relief as Arnold Rent came forward.
"This is almost providential," she sighed. "How did you come to know that I was in such sore need of you?"
"That was prosaic enough," Rent said, with a strange thrill in his voice. "I came to see your husband by appointment. He promised me an answer to my arguments, but I did not expect to get it in such a dramatic way as this. Still, I was prepared for what I have found, because I met Mrs. Bromley-Martin just now and she seems to know everything. She is very sorry for you, but when I suggested that she should place her house at your disposal for a few days, she flatly refused, saying that her house was already too full. My dear Mrs. Charlock, what do you propose to do? How can I help you?"