Her eyes dropped. "Yes, that is what I do mean." In old days it had always been better to be quite frank with Richard.

"I think not. In this kind of case I think there is no delay. The legal procedure is quite simple."

He waited a moment. "You of course will bring the suit, and I shall not oppose it. You see, Athena,--no doubt you have been at the pains to inform yourself of the fact, for to my surprise Jane Oglander was aware of it,--the dissolution of a marriage carries with it no stain--no stain, that is, on the wife who has been so poorly used."

There came a look of raillery on his white face, and Athena again told herself that he was very cruel--cruel and heartless.

"The wife, I repeat, goes out into the world unsullied, ready, if so the fancy takes her, to become another man's bride--his wife in reality as well as in name."

He looked at her significantly, and added, more lightly, "The world has become more liberal since the days of my youth. I am sure there will be great sympathy felt for you, Athena. Such a marriage as ours is in truth a monstrous thing. I did not need Jane to tell me that, though it was odd of Jane to have thought of it."

There came over him a terrible feeling of la.s.situde. "And now I'm afraid I must ask you to help me to get back to my room."

This punishment he put on himself. He must not be met coming out of his wife's room alone.

"Of course!" she cried eagerly. "You know I would have done much more for you--I mean since you became ill--if you had only allowed it! But d.i.c.k was always jealous--d.i.c.k has always hated me!"

"Surely not always?" he said mildly.

"Yes, always!"

He would not take her arm, or lean on her. She simply walked by his side, her mind in a whirl of amazement, of grat.i.tude, of almost hysterical excitement, till he dismissed her, curtly, at his door.

The hour that followed was perhaps the happiest hour of Athena Maule's not unhappy life. It bore a curious resemblance to that which had immediately followed Richard Maule's proposal of marriage, the proposal for which her father and mother, as well as herself, had watched and waited so anxiously. But now there was added what had been quite lacking before--a sufficiently strong feeling of attraction to the man who would place her in the position she longed feverishly to enjoy and adorn.

That Lingard, in the throes of his pa.s.sion for her, should go through moments of acute self-depreciation and remorse, only made her feel her power, her triumph, the more.

She now came down to him gentle, subdued, as he had never yet seen her,--Nature provides such women with a wonderfully complex and full armoury--and Lingard, alas! once more under the spell, sprang towards her. The unexpected departure of Jane to the Small Farm had angered him.

"I have seen Richard." The pregnant words were uttered solemnly. "I found him, for the first time in my life, in--in my room. Jane spoke to him to-day, and he is going to release me, to let me out of prison--at last!" and then, not till then, Athena allowed herself to fall on Lingard's breast, and feel the clasp of his strong arms about her.

It mattered naught to her that the man who was now murmuring wild, broken words of love and pa.s.sionate joy at her release from intolerable bonds, felt what the traitor feels--that his intoxication was even now seared with livid streaks of self-loathing and self-contempt.

She knew well that he would not trouble her overmuch with his remorse.

She could almost hear him, in his heart, say the words he had said the night before Jane Oglander had come to disturb and trouble the sunlit waters into which they two had already glided. "It is not your fault,--any fault there may be is mine."

But just before they said good-night Lingard frightened Athena Maule, and sent her away from him cold, almost angry.

"If I were the brave man men take me to be," he said suddenly, unclasping the hands which lay in his, "I should go out into the night and shoot myself."

She had made him beg, entreat, her forgiveness for his wild, wicked words. But they frightened her--dashed her deep content.

Athena Maule did not know Hew Lingard with the intimate knowledge she had known other men who had loved her. But there was this comfort--about this man she would be able to consult Jane--Jane who was so kind, so reasonable, and who only wished to do the best for them both.

She reminded herself that men are always blind where women are concerned. If nothing else would convince Hew Lingard that Jane, after all, did not care so very much, then Jane must be persuaded, after a decent interval, to marry d.i.c.k Wantele. After what had happened to-day, everything was possible....

Athena, to-night, was "fey." She felt as if she held the keys of fate in her hands. But even so, she went on thinking of Lingard's bitter words long after they had parted, and when, having dismissed her maid, she was heating the cup of chocolate which sometimes sent her to sleep without an opiate.

And then, as she lay down among her pillows, there came over Athena Maule the curious sensation that she was not alone. Bayworth Kaye--poor Bayworth, of whom she had thought so kindly, so regretfully, only two nights ago--seemed to be there, close to her, watching, waiting....

Athena did not believe in ghosts, and so she did not feel frightened, only surprised--very much surprised.

She turned on the light and sat up in bed.

This feeling of another presence close to her--how strong it still was!--must be a result of the emotion she had just gone through, of her exciting little scene with Hew Lingard.

It was strange that she should think of Bayworth Kaye here, in this room where he had never been but once, and then only for a moment on a June night when they had both been more reckless than usual. It would have been so much more natural to have felt a survival of Bayworth's presence downstairs--when she had been in Lingard's arms....

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with an intense, an overmastering drowsiness, and, quite unconscious of what was happening to her, she fell back, asleep.

The light above the low rose-red bed was still burning when they found her in the morning.

CHAPTER XX

"Who spake of Death? Let no one speak of Death.

What should Death do in such a merry house?

With but a wife, a husband, and a friend To give it greeting?..."

Richard Maule sat up in bed. He had taken a rather larger dose of chloral than usual the night before, and he had over-slept himself.

'Twixt sleeping and waking he had seemed to hear a number of extraordinary sounds--they were, however, sounds to which he had become accustomed, for they were produced by the Paches' motor.

Now his servant was drawing up the blinds, moving about the room with well-trained, noiseless steps. It seemed to him that the man avoided looking across at the bed; but when, at last, his persistent glance caused the servant to look round, nothing could be seen in the other's impa.s.sive face.

"Is it a fine morning, Carver?"

"No, sir--at least, yes, sir. But it's been raining."

"I thought I heard a car drive away a few moments ago, or did I dream it?"

The man hesitated.

"Yes, sir--perhaps you did, sir. Mr. Wantele had the machine out to go for the doctor. Mrs. Maule is not very well, sir, and Mr. Wantele thought he'd better fetch the doctor as quickly as possible."

Carver's voice gained confidence. His master was behaving "very sensible," and did not seem at all upset. The upsetting part was to be left to Dr. Mallet.

"I was to say, sir, that the doctor would like to see you."

"Who went for the doctor?" asked Richard Maule suddenly.

"Mr. Wantele himself, sir. I heard him say he thought it would lose less time for him to go off at once, than to wait and send anyone."

"And did Mr. Wantele bring the doctor back with him?"