e stronger the faith, the deeper strike the roots of suspicion.
Blake said no further word on the subject, and Sennett was as welcome as
before. But Edith, looking up suddenly, would sometimes find her
husband's eyes fixed on her with a troubled look as of some dumb creature
trying to understand; and often he would slip out of the house of an
evening by himself, returning home hours afterwards, tired and
mud-stained.

He made attempts to show his affection. This was the most fatal thing he
could have done. Ill-temper, ill-treatment even, she might have borne.
His clumsy caresses, his foolish, halting words of tenderness became a
horror to her. She wondered whether to laugh or to strike at his
upturned face. His tactless devotion filled her life as with some sickly
perfume, stifling her. If only she could be by herself for a little
while to think! But he was with her night and day. There were times
when, as he would cross the room towards her, he grew monstrous until he
towered above her, a formless thing such as children dream of. And she
would sit with her lips tight pressed, clutching the chair lest she
should start up screaming.

Her only thought was to escape from him. One day she hastily packed a
few necessaries in a small hand-bag and crept unperceived from the house.
She drove to Charing Cross, but the Continental Express did not leave for
an hour, and she had time to think.

Of what use was it? Her slender stock of money would soon be gone; how
could she live? He would find her and follow her. It was all so
hopeless!

Suddenly a fierce desire of life seized hold of her, the angry answer of
her young blood to despair. Why should she die, never having known what
it was to live? Why should she prostrate herself before this juggernaut
of other people's respectability? Joy called to her; only her own
cowardice stayed her from stretching forth her hand and gathering it. She
returned home a different woman, for hope had come to her.

A week later the butler entered the dining room, and handed Blake a
letter addressed to him in his wife's handwriting. He took it without a
word, as though he had been expecting it. It simply told him that she
had left him for ever.

* * * * *

The world is small, and money commands many services. Sennett had gone
out for a stroll; Edith was left in the tiny _salon_ of their
_appartement_ at Fecamp. It was the third day of their arrival in the
town. The door