"Why? how?" questioned Stephen, blankly.
"Oh, so quiet; no excitement."
"But women ought to like quiet, and excitement's sinful," returned Stephen hotly, becoming the Low Church missionary school-teacher at once.
Talbot merely laughed and shrugged his shoulders, but his laugh was not friendly, and there was an angry light in his eyes.
"What am I to do?" asked Stephen mechanically, still standing, the pallor and the horror of his face growing each minute.
"I've told you. Let her have the few days' enjoyment she asks for; then her heart will reproach her, and she will come back to you."
"But she might think me indifferent," murmured Stephen, his voice almost choked in his throat.
"I shouldn't leave her long. If she does not return the day after to-morrow, then you might go; but if you go now and attempt to force her back, you'll probably make a mess of it."
"But think—my wife—"
"That's all right," returned Talbot, looking at him and understanding what he was thinking of. "In one way, at least, you know she is a good girl. She will only gamble a little and drink and get very jolly, and she'll come back to you in a day or two with no harm done—what are you doing?" he broke off suddenly, as Stephen began to tear off his slippers and socks and get his thick wet boots on.