atrice was nearing the point of fever. She had begun the
conversation with every appearance of calmness; now she was only to be
satisfied by immediate action towards the end she had in view, every
successive minute of delay was an added torment. She pressed her aunt to
go to Mrs. Birks forthwith; that alone could soothe her. Mrs. Baxendale
yielded and set out.

But it was not to Mrs. Birks that she paid her first visit. Though it
was clear that Beatrice firmly believed all she said, Mrs. Baxendale
could not accept this as positive assurance; before taking upon herself
to announce such a piece of news she felt the need of some further
testimony. She had a difficulty in reconciling precipitate action of
this kind with Wilfrid's character as it had of late years developed
itself; political, even social, ambition had become so pronounced in him
that it was difficult to imagine him turning with such sudden vehemence
from the path in which every consideration of interest would tend to
hold him. The best of women worship success, and though Mrs. Baxendale
well knew that Wilfrid's aims had suffered a degradation, she could not,
even apart from her feeling for Beatrice, welcome his return to the high
allegiance of former days, when it would surely check or altogether
terminate a brilliant career. The situation had too fantastic a look.
Could it be that Beatrice was suffering from some delusion? Had a chance
discovery of Emily Hood's proximity, together perhaps with some
ambiguous behaviour on Wilfrid's part, affected her mind? It was an
extreme supposition, but on the whole as easy of acceptance as the story
Beatrice had poured forth.

In pursuit of evidence Mrs. Baxendale drove to the Athels'. It was about
luncheon-time. She inquired for Wilfrid, and heard with mingled feelings
that he was at home. She found him in his study; he had before him a
little heap of letters, the contents of a packet he had found on his
table on entering a quarter of an hour before.

Mrs. Baxendale regarded him observantly. The results of her examination
led her to come to the point at once.

'I have just left Beatrice,' she said. 'She has been telling me an
extraordinary story. Do you know what it was?'

'She has told you the truth,' Wilfrid replied, simply.

'And you were married this morning?'

Wilfrid bent his head in assent.

Mrs. Baxendale seated herself.

'My dear Wilfrid,' were her next words, 'you have been guilty of what is
common