“It’s a bee which keeps buzzing in my brain. It’s a little bee which whispers queer words to me—tempting words. It says you must break away from the system or the system will break you. You must find a way of escape or die. You must do it quickly, now, to-night, or it will be too late. Herbert, a hungry woman will do desperate things to satisfy her appetite, and I am hungry for some stronger emotion than I can find within these four walls. I am hungry for love, hungry for work, hungry for life. If you can’t give it to me, I must find it elsewhere.”
“Clare,” said Herbert, with deliberate self-restraint, “I must again remind you that time is getting on and you are not yet dressed. In a little while our guests will be here. I hope you don’t mean to hold me up to the contempt of my friends. I at least have some sense of duty.... I am going to fetch the whisky.” As he strode toward the door he started back at the noise of breaking china.
“What’s that?” asked Clare.
“God knows,” said Herbert. “I expect mother has broken a window.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before Mrs. Heywood came in in a state of great agitation.
“Herbert, I must really ask you to come into the kitchen.”
“What’s the matter now?” asked Herbert, prepared for the worst.
“Mollie has deliberately broken our best coffee-pot.”
Herbert stared at his wife.
“Didn’t I tell you so!” he said.