ane's and Tanqueray's relations, Tanqueray's
wife had, from first to last, been cruelly wronged by both of them.

Tanqueray's wife was so absorbed in the fight they were making as to be
apparently indifferent to her wrongs, and they judged that the legend of
Jane Holland and George Tanqueray had not reached her.

It had not. And yet she knew it, she had known it all the time--that
they had been together. She had known it ever since, in the innocent
days before the rumour, she had heard Dr. Brodrick telling Mrs. Prothero
that his sister-in-law had gone down to Chagford for three months.
Chagford was where he was always staying. And in the days of innocence
Addy Ranger had let out that it was Chagford where he was now. She had
given Rose his address, Post Office, Chagford. He had been there all the
time when Rose had supposed him to be in Wiltshire and was sending all
his letters there.

She did not hear of Mrs. Brodrick's return until a week or two after
that event; for, in the days no longer of innocence, his sister-in-law
was a sore subject with the Doctor. And when Rose did hear it finally
from Laura, by that time she had heard that Tanqueray was coming back
too. He had written to her to say so.

That was on a Saturday. He was not coming until Tuesday. Rose had two
days in which to consider what line she meant to take.

That she meant to take a line was already clear to Rose. Perfectly
clear, although her decision was arrived at through nights of misery so
profound that it made most things obscure. It was clear that they could
not go on as they had been doing. _He_ might (nothing seemed to matter
to him), but she couldn't; and she wouldn't, not (so she put it) if it
was ever so. They had been miserable.

Not that it mattered so very much whether she was miserable or no. But
that was it; she had ended by making him miserable too. It took some
making; for he wasn't one to feel things much; he had always gone his
own way as if nothing mattered. By his beginning to feel things (as she
called it) now, she measured the effect she must have had on him.

It was all because she wasn't educated proper, because she wasn't a
lady. He ought to have married a lady. He ought (she could see it now)
to have married some one like Mrs. Brodrick, who could understand his
talk, and enter into what he did.

There was Mr. and Mrs. Prothero now. They were happy. There wasn't a
thing he could say or do or think but what she understood