"There is no letter or telegram, dearest Sydney," she whispered in his ear, putting her arms round his neck; "a few more hours of bliss."
"Woman!" he exclaimed, horrified, "what do I hear? I am your husband."
She uttered a startled cry, jumped apart from him, and fled.
At this moment the gate clicked, and a footstep approached.
"He has returned! run for your life!" called out the wife from the shrubbery.
Sydney Marshall, for it was that trustworthy gentleman, did not require a second warning. He was out of the gate and round the corner in a second.
The dazed and maddened husband quickly followed, but Marshall was not to be seen, and he did not return to his apartments that night.
Fraser would not trust himself to go near his wife again, and he went to his father's. When father and son reached the villa next morning the servants told them that Mrs. Fraser had packed up a couple of boxes and left at six o'clock, as she said, to meet her husband.
The guilty pair had, no doubt, left London. It was ascertained that, on the plea of urgent private affairs, Marshall had received a fortnight's leave of absence from business.