her husband, the night before she departed.

"In ten days we shall expect you at Pitlochry," she said, smiling, to
Arthur Meadows, as she swept past them in the corridor. Then, pausing,
she held out a perfunctory hand to Doris.

"And we really can't persuade you to come too?"

The tone was careless and patronising. It brought the sudden red to
Doris's cheek. For one moment she was tempted to say--"Thank you--since
you are so kind--after all, why not?"--just that she might see the
change in those large, malicious eyes--might catch their owner unawares,
for once. But, as usual, nerve failed her. She merely said that her
drawing would keep her all August in town; and that London, empty, was
the best possible place for work. Lady Dunstable nodded and passed on.

The ten days flew. Meadows, kept to it by Doris, was very busy preparing
another lecture for publication in an English review. Doris, meanwhile,
got his clothes ready, and affected a uniformly cheerful and indifferent
demeanour. On Arthur's last evening at home, however, he came suddenly
into the sitting-room, where Doris was sewing on some final buttons, and
after fidgeting about a little, with occasional glances at his wife, he
said abruptly:

"I say, Doris, I won't go if you're going to take it like this."

She turned upon him.

"Like what?"