n account of infection, sat on the stairs and showered
effusive speeches in a high-pitched voice through the open door.

Arithelli had sent no word of her illness to her parents in London. She
knew their views on the subject of complaints. They would consider the
whole thing due to imagination, there would be unpleasant letters, and it
was perfectly certain that they would send no assistance in the shape of
money. Emile had wished to write, but she had begged him not to do so,
and for once he had yielded to what he called her "whims."

From the scraps of information she had received from time to time it
appeared that the uncomfortable _menage_ of her kindred had become even
more disorganised. Her father had turned for consolation to the whisky
of his country, her mother spent whole days in bed reading, and weaving
futile dreams of a recovered fortune, and Isobel and Valerie grew taller
and hungrier, and fought and wrangled after the manner of Hooligans.
Lazy and shiftless, they envied Arithelli the life she had chosen, but
had neither the pluck nor the brains necessary to emulate her example.

Emile's manner had troubled her of late, for he had been strangely
bad-tempered and variable in his moods. She had become more or less
accustomed to his eccentricities of behaviour and speech, but this was
something different, indefinable. One day he would be extraordinarily
kind and considerate, the next almost brutal, either hardly speaking at
all, or else finding fault with everything she said and did.

She often felt a presentiment that he had something important to tell
her, but he would come and go without imparting any news, and, as always,
she did not worry him with questions as many women would have done.

She wondered if he were feeling harassed over "_les affaires
politiques_," or whether he was afraid that the Manager's small stock of
patience would be exhausted before she was able to appear in the ring
again, and that he would cancel her contract. If that happened she felt
that the end of all things would have indeed arrived. She could not
struggle against the Fates any longer, obviously she could not return
home, and it was not fair that Emile should continue to keep her.

He came in one evening about eight o'clock to find her up for the first
time since her illness, and sitting on the edge of the bed draped in the
long blue cloak she used for covering her circus attire.

Her hair was parted over her ear