He was resolved to strike when the iron was hot, and to get away while
she was in this docile mood. She was gentle and quiet and seemed very
unhappy, but made no objections to his plans; she would not, perhaps,
have minded his leaving her for a day or two, since she felt
uncomfortable and in the wrong, but she dreaded his being away for
weeks. He said he would join Rupert at Venice; and this she rather
preferred, as Rupert was known to be a quiet, steady, studious young
man.

But when the last moment came and the packed trunks were put on the cab,
he had said good-bye to her and the children and that last terrible bang
of the hall door resounded in her heart, she could not look out of the
window in her usual place. She had felt the agony known to all loving
hearts, the conviction that a traveller is already at a distance before
he goes. He is no longer with her when his thoughts are with stations
and tickets--indeed the real parting is long before he starts. Then the
unconscious sparkle of pleasure in his eyes as he imagines himself away!
He had gone already before he went; she did not want to see the last of
him. She went up to her room and locked the door, and threw herself on
the sofa in a terrible fit of despair and jealousy. Jealousy still, that
was her great fear of his going away. He would forget her and be
unfaithful, she thought. ...

* * * * *

She suffered terribly that evening, and the next day resolved to take a
somewhat singular step. If she had been doing Bertha an injustice, as it
seemed, if Bertha was not seeing him at all, why should she not go and
see her? She felt instinctively that besides getting the truth out of
her, and perhaps apologising for what had happened at the party, Bertha
might give her some advice. Everyone said she was so kind and clever.
She decided not to write, but she rang up on the telephone and asked if
Bertha would receive her at three o'clock. She felt a strange
curiosity, a longing to see her. She received the answer, Mrs. Kellynch
would be delighted to see her at any time in the afternoon.

CHAPTER XXXII

PRIVATE FIREWORKS AT THE PICKERINGS'

"I say, Clifford, when is your birthday?" This momentous question was
asked of Clifford with the liveliest interest by Cissy Pickering, a
remarkably pretty little girl of about his own age.

They were in the gigantic and gorgeous apartment set apart as a playroom
for the young Pickerings in