A cold and awful quietness fell on Sheila's heart. She stared
fixedly at the tuft of dark hair, the only visible sign of her
husband, on the pillow. Then, taking up the basin of cold
cornflour, she left the room. In a quarter of an hour she
reappeared carrying a tray, with ham and eggs and coffee and
honey invitingly displayed. She laid it down.

'There is only one other question,' she said, with perfect
composure--'that of money. Your signature as it appears on
the--the document drawn up this morning, would, of course, be
quite useless on a cheque. I have taken all the money I could
find; it is in safety. You may, however, conceivably be in need
of some yourself; here is five pounds. I have my own cheque-book,
and shall therefore have no need to consider the question again
for--for the present. So far as you are concerned, I shall be
guided solely by Mr Bethany. He will, I do not doubt, take full
responsibility.'

'And may the Lord have mercy on my soul!' uttered a stifled,
unfamiliar voice from the bed. Mrs Lawford stooped. 'Arthur!' she
cried faintly, 'Arthur!'

Lawford raised himself on his elbow with a sigh that was very
near to being a sob. 'Oh, Sheila, if you'd only be your real
self! What is the use of all this pretence? Just consider MY
position a little. The fear and horror are not all on your side.
You called me Arthur even then. I'd willingly do anything you
wish to save you pain; you know that. Can't we be friends even in
this--this ghastly-- Won't you, Sheila?'