They parted.
They only met once more. This was in the January of the following year, in the great antlered hall at Mallard Bois, that was as regularly used on all occasions as if there had not been salons and galleries and drawing-rooms in a dozen other parts of the great place. The Honourable Mrs. Causton lay on a couch drawn up to the fire-dogs; her husband looked submissively down on her, dwarfing the suit of armour of Big Hugo by which he stood.
She made a new proposal. It was that he should put it into her hands to set herself free once for all.
"Yes, miss," said Buck.
"Then," said the Honourable Mrs. Causton a quarter of an hour later, "there's the question of cruelty."
Buck's thoughts wandered slowly back to the Piker.
"Yes, miss," he said.
"I need hardly tell you that as far as—er—procedure—can be stretched it will be stretched."
"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss."
Then wistfully Buck's eyes wandered from Big Hugo's suit of armour to his wife's face again.