too, in time will have to be arranged, I suppose, if nothing happens
meanwhile; I mean if things don't come right. And I do hope, Arthur, you
will not set your mind too closely on what may only prove false hopes.
This is all intensely painful to me; of course, to us both.'

Again Lawford, even though he did not turn to confront it, became
conscious of the black veil turned towards him tentatively,
speculatively, impenetrably.

'Yes,' he said, 'I'll write to Wedderburn; he's had his ups and downs
too.'

'I always rather fancied so,' said Sheila reflectively, 'he looks rather
a--a restless man. Oh, and then again,' she broke off quickly, 'there's
the question of money. I suppose--it is only a conjecture--I suppose it
would be better to do nothing in that direction just for the present.
Ada has now gone to the Bank. Fifty pounds, Arthur; it is out of my own
private account--do you think that will be enough, just, of course, for
your PRESENT needs?'

'As a bribe, hush-money, or a thank-offering, Sheila?' murmured her
husband wearily.

'I don't follow you,' replied the discreet voice from beneath the veil.

He did actually turn this time and glance steadily over his shoulder.
'How long are you going for? and where?'

'I proposed to go to my cousin's, Bettie Lovat's; that is, of course, if
you have no objection. It's near; it will be a long-deferred visit; and
she need know very little. And, of course, if for the least thing in the
world you should want me, there I am within call, as it were. And you
will write? We ARE acting for the best, Arthur?'

'So long as it is your best, Sheila.'

Sheila pondered. 'You think, you mean, they'll all say I ought to have
stayed. Candidly, I can't see it in that light. Surely every experience
of life proves that in intimate domestic matters, and especially in
those between husband and wife, only the parties concerned have any
means of judging what is best for them? It has been our experience at
any rate: though I must in fairness confess that, outwardly at least,
I haven't had much of that kind of thing to complain of.' Sheila paused
again for a reply.

'What kind of thing?'

'Domestic experience, dear.'

The house was quiet. There was not a sound stirring in the still
sunny road of orchards and discreet and drowsy villas. A long silence
followed, immensely active and alert on the one side, almost morbidly
lethargic so far as the stooping figure in front of the looking-glass