"Ah, my dear, it is terrible for you," said Lady Ardingly. "It is quite terrible, and they all ought to be whipped. But"--and she looked at Marie--"but you are marvellous! Long ago something of the same kind happened to me, and I was in tears for days--swollen-eyed, all sorts of ghastly things. Please let me have a cigarette. I am terribly upset."

Marie handed her the box, Lady Ardingly lit one. The little person in Marie's brain told her that it smelt delicious. But the greater lobes were now beginning to work; the apathetic mist was clearing.

"You have seen Jack?" she said. "He drove with you here, did he not?"

"Yes, my dear. How quick of you to guess! Jack is distraught. But tell me, what did you see or hear? You had a bad headache; you were in your room. What else?"

"I felt better. I went into the garden," said Marie. "I saw--sufficient."

"Ah, what stupid fools!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lady Ardingly, not meaning to say anything of the kind.

"Exactly--what stupid fools!" said Marie. "But not only that, you know."

"Of course, not only that," said Lady Ardingly, annoyed at herself.

"Now, Marie, Jack is here. He is waiting to know if you will see him. I will wait, too. I will sacrifice all the day, if between us we can make you see--if between us we can do any good. I ask you in common fairness to listen. There will be plenty of time for all sorts of decrees correspondent--I don't know what they call them--afterwards. Now, which of us will you see first? Him or me?"

Marie suddenly felt her throat muscles beyond control. She had no idea whether she was going to laugh or cry. Her will was to do neither. The effect was that she did both, and flung herself down on the sofa by the other.

"There, there," said Lady Ardingly, "that is right. I am not a tender woman, but I am sorry for you. It is all terrible. But the sun will rise to-morrow, and the Newmarket autumn meeting will take place, and Christmas Day will come in November--or December, is it not? Be quiet a moment."

But Marie's hysterical outburst ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and she sat up again, drying her eyes. "Give me a minute," she said.

"As many as you wish," said Lady Ardingly. "By the way, is that tall thing here, that daughter?"

Marie began to laugh again, but checked herself.

"Yes," she said. "Maud saw what I saw. She came up with me last night."

"Do the servants know?" asked Lady Ardingly with some anxiety.

"I think not. But my maid knows I went last night. I left a note for her saying so. She came here an hour ago."

"Tell her you will dismiss her if she says a word," said Lady Ardingly.

"She will not."

"You are certain?"

"Perfectly."

"Then, my dear, will you talk to Jack first, or to me?" said the other.

"To Jack, if you can wait," said Marie. "Yet I don't know why I should keep you. I have got to talk to Jack. I promised him. And that is all, I think."

Lady Ardingly rose with alacrity.

"Then talk to him now," she said. "Afterwards, though perhaps you don't want to talk to me, I want to talk to you. I will send him."

For a moment Marie was alone. The interval she employed in wheeling a chair up to the table where the cigarettes were. She sat herself in it, and on the moment Jack came in, and the two were face to face. He, like her, looked absolutely normal.

"You told Lady Ardingly you wished to see me," he said.

"No; I told her I promised to see you."

She raised her eyes and looked at him. At that the chain was complete; her whole brain worked again. She felt, and knew what she felt.

"I don't know what good purpose is served by my seeing you," she said; "but here we are. Last night you told Mildred you would come back to her, if she would have you. She a.s.sented. That is sufficient, is it not?

If you like, I will go on."

"That is sufficient," said Jack.

"She is your mistress, in fact," said Marie. "How long has that gone on?"

"About five years," said he.

Marie drew a long breath, then got up.

"How splendid!" she said. "And after five years you come back to your wife! You said that, too; you said you had attempted a renewal. So you had tired of her, and thought-- Oh, my G.o.d!"

"Yes, I suppose you may say I had tired of her," said Jack. "That is your point of view. There is another."

"And what can that be?" asked Marie.

"You may not believe it--but----"

"It is true, I may not believe it. What I know is that about a month ago you changed your behaviour to me. You began to pay me little attentions. Once you kissed me; once----"

Jack's lips compressed a little.

"You may not believe it," he said again, "but what I tell you is true.

You may say I tired of her. I say I fell in love--again--with you."

Marie sat down again. The pa.s.sion for a.n.a.lysis, of which Jim Spencer had accused her, was strong in her. She was intensely interested.

"Let me understand," she said. "You are originally in love with me; then you fall in love with Mildred; then you fall in love with me again. Is that it? We take turns. Were there others? You have gratified your whims; why may not I gratify my curiosity?"

Jack did not reply for a moment. Then, "I never fell in love with her,"

he said. "But a man is a man."

"And a woman only a woman," said Marie. "No, I ought not to have said that. That is not what we are here for. I want to know quite simply what you have got to say for yourself."

"This only. Six weeks ago--a short enough time, I grant--I should have come back to you, if you would have had me. You would not. If you had, I should have told you--past history myself. Would that not have made a difference?"

"Yes, it would," said she. "What then?"

"You are a cold, pa.s.sionless woman, and will not understand," he said.

Then he paused a moment, for a long sigh lay suspended in her breast.

"You object to my saying that?" he added.