to the place where Amaldi had been born. She had
thought she might never see him again. Now she might see him very soon.
It gave her a frank pleasure to think of seeing Amaldi again. She liked
him warmly.

Bellamy was speaking to her with great earnestness:

"Mrs. Chesney, pray don't worry over having to leave your husband.
Carfew comes to-morrow, you know, and he will tell you what I tell you
now, I feel convinced--that it will be the best thing possible for
Chesney to have the brace of feeling that he must do without you, for a
time."

Sophy looked at him with her candid eyes.

"I wasn't worrying," she said. "I've thought that out for myself. I
know"--she spoke with quiet emphasis--"whether Doctor Carfew says so or
not, that it will be best for me to leave Cecil now. Not only for
him.... I'm thinking of myself, too, Doctor Bellamy. I've come to the
end ... for the present. I haven't anything more to give him." Her voice
became suddenly bitter. "Not hope, or patience, or belief ... or ...
anything that could really help him," she ended, flushing a little,
feeling that she had said too much.

"You are simply worn out, dear lady," he replied gently. "Your own
natural feeling has worn you out as much as anything. What Chesney needs
now is the cruel kindness of skilled professionals. I hope that we can
succeed in getting his consent to go to Carfew's sanatorium."

Sophy looked at him rather inscrutably.

"I shall speak to him about that myself--I made up my mind to do so last
night."

Bellamy had never noticed how determined her beautiful mouth could look.
He thought how sad it was that character needed to be hammered out on
such rough anvils. It was strange to see it being thus shaped under
one's eyes, as it were.

From this talk with Bellamy Sophy went straight to Lady Wychcote.

"Doctor Bellamy says that Bobby must have a complete change of climate.
I am going to take him to Italy, as soon as I can get packed," she said,
without preliminaries.

Lady Wychcote's brow lowered.

"What! You will leave your husband to hirelings?" she asked, in her
coldest, most metallic tones.

"'Hirelings' are the best people to leave Cecil with at present. You
must see that yourself," Sophy answered, unmoved, and quite as coldly.

"You actually mean it?"

"Yes."

Lady Wychcote's mouth thinned to a hair. The width of this hair-line
indicated an ironic smile.

"You have heard the saying, I presume, that a wife should f