"Take it away," she said; "I don't like the look of it."
"Well, it's not a nice thing to have hanging over your head."
He took it away and hung it in its old place in the dining-room.
And Mrs. Nevill Tyson was content. Though there was not a sign or a hope that her beauty would be restored to her, she was content. What was more, she was positively glad that it was gone, regarding the loss of it as the ransom for Tyson's soul.
She was growing stronger every day now, and they were full of plans for their future. No attempt had been made to repair the damage done by the fire. It was settled—so far as anything was settled—that they were to let the flat, let Thorneytoft too, and go away from London, from England perhaps, to some Elysium to be agreed on by them both. It was to be a second honeymoon—or was it a third? There was nothing like beginning all over again from the very beginning. They talked of the Riviera.
In three weeks' time from the date of the fire she was well enough to be moved into the dining-room. Nevill carried her. They had to go through the empty drawing-room, and as they passed they stopped and looked round the desolate place. It struck them both that this was the scene of that terrible last act of the drama of the old life.
"When we've once gone we will never, never come back again," she said.
"No. We burnt our ships in that blaze, Moll. Do you mind very much?"
"No. I shall never want to see it again. In our new house we won't have anything to remind us of this."
"No, we'll have everything brand new, won't we?"