hat is the best
thing to do."

She went on, talking somewhat at random, now of the recent
past, then of their first meeting and their marriage;
but presently I began to form a fairly coherent picture of
their lives; and it seemed to me that my surmises had not
been incorrect. Mrs. Strickland was the daughter of an
Indian civilian, who on his retirement had settled in the depths
of the country, but it was his habit every August to take his
family to Eastbourne for change of air; and it was here,
when she was twenty, that she met Charles Strickland.
He was twenty-three. They played together, walked on the front
together, listened together to the nigger minstrels; and she
had made up her mind to accept him a week before he proposed
to her. They lived in London, first in Hampstead, and then,
as he grew more prosperous, in town. Two children were born
to them.

"He always seemed very fond of them. Even if he was tired of me,
I wonder that he had the heart to leave them. It's all so
incredible. Even now I can hardly believe it's true."

At last she showed me the letter he had written.
I was curious to see it, but had not ventured to ask for it.

"MY DEAR AMY,

<i "I think you will find everything all right in the flat.
I have given Anne your instructions, and dinner will be ready
for you and the children when you come. I shall not be there
to meet you. I have made up my mind to live apart from you,
and I am going to Paris in the morning. I shall post this
letter on my arrival. I shall not come back. My decision is
irrevocable.

"Yours always,>

"CHARLES STRICKLAND."

"Not a word of explanation or regret. Don't you think it's inhuman?"

"It's a very strange letter under the circumstances," I replied.

"There's only one explanation, and that is that he's not himself.
I don't know who this woman is who's got hold of him,
but she's made him into another man. It's evidently been
going on a long time."

"What makes you think that?"

"Fred found that out. My husband said he went to the club
three or four nights a week to play bridge. Fred knows one of
the members, and said something about Charles being a great
bridge-player. The man was surprised. He said he'd never
even seen Charles in the card-room. It's quite clear now that
when I thought Charles was at his club he was with her."

I was silent for a moment. Then I thought of the children.

"It must have been difficult to explain to R