He turns and kisses her. But his lips, after that kiss, have the furtive bitterness one sees on the lips of those who have done what does not suit their mood. He goes out. She is left motionless by the armchair, her throat working. Then, feverishly, she goes to the little table, seizes a sheet of paper, and writes. Looking up suddenly she sees that MRS. MILER has let herself in with her latchkey.
MRS. MILER. I've settled the baker, the milk, the washin' an' the groceries—this 'ere's what's left.
She counts down a five-pound note, four sovereigns, and two shillings on to the little table. CLARE folds the letter into an envelope, then takes up the five-pound note and puts it into her dress.
CLARE. [Pointing to the money on the table] Take your wages; and give him this when he comes in. I'm going away.
MRS. MILER. Without him? When'll you be comin' back?
CLARE. [Rising] I shan't be coming back. [Gazing at MRS. MILER'S hands, which are plaiting at her dress] I'm leaving Mr. Malise, and shan't see him again. And the suit against us will be withdrawn—the divorce suit—you understand?
MRS. MILER. [Her face all broken up] I never meant to say anything to yer.
CLARE. It's not you. I can see for myself. Don't make it harder; help me. Get a cab.
MRS. MILER. [Disturbed to the heart] The porter's outside, cleanin' the landin' winder.
CLARE. Tell him to come for my trunk. It is packed. [She goes into the bedroom]