te, was left at the post, George Pendyce had just put his
latch-key in the door of the room he had taken near Mrs. Bellew, when a
man, stepping quickly from behind, said:

"Mr. George Pendyce, I believe."

George turned.

"Yes; what do you want?"

The man put into George's hand a long envelope.

"From Messrs. Frost and Tuckett."

George opened it, and read from the top of a slip of paper:

"'ADMIRALTY, PROBATE, AND DIVORCE. The humble petition of Jaspar
Bellew-----'"

He lifted his eyes, and his look, uncannily impassive, unresenting,
unangered, dogged, caused the messenger to drop his gaze as though he had
hit a man who was down.

"Thanks. Good-night!"

He shut the door, and read the document through. It contained some
precise details, and ended in a claim for damages, and George smiled.

Had he received this document three months ago, he would not have taken
it thus. Three months ago he would have felt with rage that he was
caught. His thoughts would have run thus 'I have got her into a mess; I
have got myself into a mess. I never thought this would happen. This is
the devil! I must see someone--I must stop it. There must be a way out.'
Having but little imagination, his thoughts would have beaten their wings
against this cage, and at once he would have tried to act. But this was
not three months ago, and now----

He lit a cigarette and sat down on the sofa, and the chief feeling in his
heart was a strange hope, a sort of funereal gladness. He would have to
go and see her at once, that very night; an excuse--no need to wait in
here--to wait--wait on the chance of her coming.

He got up and drank some whisky, then went back to the sofa and sat down
again.

'If she is not here by eight,' he thought, 'I will go round.'

Opposite was a full-length mirror, and he turned to the wall to avoid it.
There was fixed on his face a look of gloomy determination, as though he
were thinking, 'I'll show them all that I'm not beaten yet.'

At the click of a latch-key he scrambled off the sofa, and his face
resumed its mask. She came in as usual, dropped her opera cloak, and
stood before him with bare shoulders. Looking in her face, he wondered
if she knew.

"I thought I'd better come," she said. "I suppose you've had the same
charming present?"

George nodded. There was a minute's silence.

"It's really rather funny. I'm sorry for you, George."

George laughed too, but his laugh was different.