It was after midnight before she had finished his packing. Then, bidding
him a smiling good night, she fell asleep--apparently--as soon as her
head touched the pillow.

The next morning, early, she stood on the steps waving farewell to
Arthur, without a trace of ill-humour. And he, though vaguely
uncomfortable, had submitted at last to what he felt was her fixed
purpose of avoiding a scene. Moreover, the "eternal child" in him, which
made both his charm and his weakness, had already scattered his
compunctions of the preceding day, and was now aglow with the sheer joy
of holiday and change. He had worked very hard, he had had a great
success, and now he was going to live for three weeks in the lap of
luxury; intellectual luxury first and foremost--good talk, good company,
an abundance of books for rainy days; but with the addition of a supreme
_chef_, Lord Dunstable's champagne, and all the amenities of one of the
best moors in Scotland.

Doris went back into the house, and, Arthur being no longer in the
neighbourhood, allowed herself a few tears. She had never felt so lonely
in her life, nor so humiliated. "My moral character is gone," she said
to herself. "I have no moral character. I thought I was a sensible,
educated woman; and I am just an ''Arriet,' in a temper with her
''Arry.' Well--courage! Three weeks isn't long. Who can say that Arthur
mayn't come back disillusioned? Rachel Dunstable is a born tyrant. If,
instead of flattering him, she begins to bully him, strange things may
happen!"

The first week of solitude she spent in household drudgery. Bills had to
be paid, and there was now mercifully a little money to pay them with.
Though it was August, the house was to be "spring-cleaned," and Doris