The other sighed, such a sigh as man has ever sighed when arguing with woman.

"You women _will_ interrupt," he said loftily. Yes, they were quite on their old terms again.... "If you would only let me finish, I was going to tell you that he said he knew he had acted too hastily but that he hoped you would believe--and then he told a pack of lies, but here's the point." He spoke impressively. "If you'll let him have the new book, he'll pay you two hundred pounds down, only as a first dab of the royalties of course, and boom it better than ever, and he guarantees a still greater success, providing it's one half as good.

So there, Miss Zoe, what do you think of your agent now?"

She did not exhibit the delirious grat.i.tude which he clearly had expected. She sat, obviously thinking; and he for his part reflected that women were odd devils, however well you knew them. Surely n.o.body could know a woman better than he knew little Zoe; he saw more of her now than Brett did; talked to her with the direct ease of a husband--said just what he thought. Hadn't he just told her not to interrupt? Well, that meant knowing a girl pretty well; yet if any one had told him that she wouldn't be delighted about this book she wanted to write so much----

"I shall have to ask Hugh," she said very slowly, breaking in upon his thoughts.

This was the last word.... Ask Hugh! Ask Brett, who had behaved like a d.a.m.ned swine about the other book, who wouldn't speak to her except to snub her, who thought of nothing except his own rotten work! The girl must be mad!

"Ask him?" he said in amazement.

"I ought to have asked him about the other," she merely replied. "Then everything would have been quite all right."

"Yes," he a.s.sented, mocking; "then you'd have never had your book out, never had all this success. Everything would have been quite all right."

"Yes," she said, seriously.

After this there was no argument. He could not bring himself to stay.

It was so asinine. People must go mad when once they married! Oh yes, he could stay no longer. Ask Hugh, indeed, when she had got the chance of her whole lifetime! He could guess what Hugh, dear Hugh, would say.

"Well," she said, "if you must really go so early?" She had no suspicion of his mental turmoil. "And I'll let you know to-morrow about the new book, when I've asked Hugh."

But he had clapped his green hat on impatiently and strode away. He knew she would not listen to anything against her husband; she had such young ideas about that sort of thing; but really!----

Helena, meanwhile, still innocent of the rage she had stirred up in him, spent the time till lunch in wondering how best to attack her not easy task. Before Hugh came in, she must have the book in its rough lines all in her head, so as to convince him that it was mere fiction and would make people believe at last the other had been meant for nothing more. Then he would surely not object, and be pleased; or if not--well, why worry about that? A row, she had decided, could not hurt like his cold silence. It would be human, anyhow. And what an outlet, what a boon for lonely evenings, the new book would be!

If war it must be, then let it be war; but she would do her best for peace.

When he duly entered, however, all her good natural openings and deprecating explanations were mere labour lost. He fired the first shot--and in quite a different campaign.

"Look here, Helena," he said, coming into the drawing-room and actually sitting down, though not, of course, near her, "all this Alison nonsense must cease." He clutched the chair-arm firmly.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, very calm; but inwardly her spirit veered decisively to war.

"What do _I_ mean?" he snorted. "Surely it's quite obvious! Most husbands would be jealous, but I'm not like that. I know it's mere stupidity; I couldn't be jealous of a knock-kneed a.s.s like Alison; but all the same----" In spite of himself he relaxed his hold of the chair-arm and got up, pacing hurriedly about the little room. "Look here, Helena," he said once again, more calmly, "I see through it all; don't fancy not, for half a moment. You women are so obvious. I know you think you've only got to make us jealous for everything to be all right, but it's not going to work here."

"I don't know even what you mean," she answered, rather as though he had just made a dirty joke.

"Well, _I_ do," he thundered, "and I mean it, too. This has got to stop, I tell you. I asked you long ago, when--when things were different, to see less of this fellow. I don't trust him. I ran across him just now, and he cringed. Grrrr!" (and here he made a gesture as of one who washes hands). "It's bad enough that you and he should be about together, day and night, till everybody talks; but when it comes to a cad like that calling you Zoe and----"

"So you've been listening," she said. It seemed so easy to keep calm, now that Hubert was excited.

He laughed scornfully. "That's likely, isn't it? I heard him bellowing it out in the hall.... No, this has got to stop. It's bad enough to have the Boyds and all our friends here sn.i.g.g.e.ring, but when the servants----"

She got up abruptly, and he sat down; the room was too small for two rovers.

"Perhaps," she began icily, "you'll let me say a word. You haven't let me for a week." He spread his arms, hopeless, and sat down. "I'm glad you're not jealous," she went on slowly, as to a child. "That'd be stupid. You know quite well that Mr. Alison is nothing but a friend.

I couldn't respect him as----" but no, she wouldn't seem to beg for mercy; she broke off and spoke again in a much fiercer tone. "Perhaps though, as you've told me what I mustn't do, you'll tell me what I can.

_You_ won't come out with me, you shun me like a criminal, you only talk to me in front of Lily. Do you think I can live like that? Do you really think I'm going out alone, alone with the dog, and everybody saying: 'There's poor Mrs. Brett; she's in disgrace; he's punishing her'? No, I'd rather let them see me with Mr. Alison and let them think it's I who am avoiding you!"

He looked at her as at some strange being in his house. "Helena," he said, "this can't be you who's speaking."

"Isn't it?" she laughed. Then calming herself, "Perhaps then," she added, borrowing some of his irony, "if I'm not to go out with Mr.

Alison, you'll tell me what I _am_ to do."

"What do most wives do," he asked, "whose husbands are away? They don't rush about everywhere with artist-wasters; they do some work or something."

It was a vague ending, but it lent Helena her chance.

"Exactly what I wanted you to say," she cried. "I don't want to do anything again without your leave; but now I _will_ do some work. I'll live my own life, if you don't want me to share yours."

"What do you mean, Helena?" he asked. This was a new mood.

"I mean," she said surprised at her own calmness, "that Blatchleys have offered me two hundred pounds advance for my new novel. I said I must ask you first, but now I shall accept it."

"I utterly forbid it," he cried wildly and leapt to his feet. They were both standing now.

"What?" she exclaimed. "Forbid? What do you forbid? How can you forbid? You could have, in the old days; I wouldn't have done anything if you had asked me not; but now--how can you forbid?"

"I do," he cried excitedly. "I utterly forbid it." He was gaining time to think.

There was a pause while they stood facing one another.

"Do you think," he said presently, "apart from all that's happened, this horrible publicity, my friends all chaffing me, I ever would have married the sort of woman you propose becoming? I wanted a wife to look after me, to be a nice companion; I didn't want a woman-writer. I hate that type of woman. You were a simple, jolly girl when I first married you, and now--writing this popular clap-trap!--you must see, Helena, it isn't fair?" His stern air melted almost to appeal.

She would not allow herself to listen but forced the argument on to a safer plane. "This one," she said, "has nothing to do with an author at all, there can't be all those terrible misunderstandings. Oh, don't you see, Hubert," she cried, "that if I wrote another book, all obviously fiction, these horrid gossips may believe at last the other was all like that too? Besides, it's stupid to refuse two hundred pounds just when you say things are so bad and we may have to move."

She had not meant it so, but this was her worst cut of all.

Hubert remembered his own failure; was reminded of her huge success.

A wife selling her books ten times as well as his own--a wife who wrote "for fun" in idle hours--a wife whom he had treated as a silly child.... "This one'll fail," he said almost fiercely, "it's bound to.

You're nothing but an amateur, _I_'ve been at the job fifteen years.

Two hundred's all you'll get, and much good may it do you!"

Full of conflicting moods; sullen yet ashamed; aware of his unworthy jealousy yet hardly able to endure the thought; sorry for her yet sick with his own wound; he turned away before the better side in him should win and he implore the pardon of this woman that he would always love, however much he hated her.

"Hubert," she began, aghast at his excitement.

"We won't argue," he said, back at the safe level of those days just past, and moved towards the door. She hesitated, not sure who had won.

At the door he turned. "Oh, by the way," he said, as to a servant. "I shall want a room for Ruth to-morrow. She's coming down before teatime."

Helena gave a short bitter laugh, which he just heard as the door closed.

She saw the issue of the tussle now.

He had failed to subdue the disobedient wife, and he was asking down his sister!