“We quarreled,” continued Ellen absorbed in her own trouble. “We had terrible scenes and terrible reconciliations. I am certain that he has already been unfaithful. In the end I came away, but until I stepped on the ship I was not certain that I had the courage.... Imagine that!... Imagine me not having the courage simply to go from one place to another. I did not tell him I was going until the morning I sailed. There was time then for a quarrel, but not time for a reconciliation, and so I got off.” She looked out of the window and continued in a low voice. “And now ... now I don’t know what I’m to do. I came here to this house because I am still his wife. I wanted time to think it over ... away from him. It would have been absurd to run away and hide like a schoolgirl.”
“He will not change,” observed Sabine. “I knew him for twelve years. He did not change.” She flicked the ash from her cigarette and sighed. “Still, in all that time, we never quarreled. He would never have quarreled over my leaving him.... You see, he did not care enough.”
It was quite dark now and the only light in the room came from the blaze in the huge fireplace. Sabine was drawing on her gloves. She gathered her fur cloak about her and set her small hat at exactly the right angle.
“Do you know the history of this house?” she asked. “It might interest you. You see, it was built originally by a German banker named Wolff to house his mistress. When he killed himself and she disappeared, it fell into the possession of the Callendars. Richard brought me here.... I followed the mistress in the possession of the boudoir ... and now it is yours.”
Ellen leaned back silently in her chair. There was something about this house which she had disliked since the moment she entered it ... something lush and Oriental. So it had been built by a German Jew to please his mistress and after that it had sheltered first Sabine and then herself! The history seemed in some way to throw a light upon her own confusion. The house, it appeared, still carried on its traditions. She and Sabine were ladies. It was impossible to know what the mistress had been. She was dead or retired now, no doubt, in some respectable quarter of a provincial town, or perhaps become the proprietress of a café, or a bad variety actress. It was fascinating to speculate upon what had become of her. What would happen to Sabine? What would happen to herself?
Sabine interrupted her thoughts by saying, “It is ridiculous for me in my position to give you advice. Besides, even if matters were different I’m not sure that I’d do it. Advice means nothing and people seldom take it because they never tell the whole truth. There is always something which they keep concealed, and because it is concealed it is the most important element of all and influences them far more than anything an outsider can say.” She stood up and walked over to the fire. “No, there’s nothing I can say save that it would be a pity for the world to lose Lilli Barr. She is far more important than Mrs. Callendar, and in the end I think would be the happier of the two.”
Across the room Ellen watched the back of her visitor, speculating upon what she could have meant by the long speech. Was it possible that Sabine knew there was something she had not revealed? She grew suddenly jealous and suspicious. Had Sabine been too clever for her? Had all this strange feeling of an alliance between them been simply an illusion tricked up by a shrewd adversary? Did Sabine, standing there with her foot on the fender, fancy that if Callendar were free again she might have him back?
“You see, one of the complications,” she said quietly, “is that I am going to have a baby.”
At the announcement Sabine turned sharply, with a queer look in her eyes. Years before in this very room, she had made the identical speech to Callendar, and he had turned and kissed her with a new sort of tenderness. But the child had been a girl ... a poor, sickly little girl. Sabine closed her eyes, and turning, rested her head for a moment against the high mantelpiece. She had the manner of one who had been hurt suddenly.
“It is the heir they wanted,” she said sardonically.