'I proposed to go to my cousin's, Bettie Lovat's; that is, of
course, if you have no objection. It's near; it will be a
long-deferred visit; and she need know very little. And, of
course, if for the least thing in the world you should want me,
there I am within call, as it were. And you will write? We ARE
acting for the best, Arthur?'

'So long as it is your best, Sheila.'

Sheila pondered. 'You think, you mean, they'll all say I ought to
have stayed. Candidly, I can't see it in that light. Surely every
experience of life proves that in intimate domestic matters, and
especially in those between husband and wife, only the parties
concerned have any means of judging what is best for them? It has
been our experience at any rate: though I must in fairness
confess that, outwardly at least, I haven't had much of that kind
of thing to complain of.' Sheila paused again for a reply.

'What kind of thing?'

'Domestic experience, dear.'

The house was quiet. There was not a sound stirring in the still
sunny road of orchards and discreet and drowsy villas. A long
silence followed, immensely active and alert on the one side,
almost morbidly lethargic so far as the stooping figure in front
of the looking-glass was concerned. At last the last haunting
question came in a kind of croak, as if only by a supreme effort
could it be compelled to produce itself for consideration.