She cried out eagerly, "Who was it?" then stopped with a half-smile. "What does it matter to me who it was? The only thing that matters now is the children. What is to be done about the children? I cannot tell them; nor can you, nor any one. Mr Fareham, let him alone; let him be--happy, as you call it--if he can. But the children--what am I to say to the children?" She rose up again, and began to walk about the room, unable to keep still. "Horace, who is a man, and Milly. If they were little things it would not matter; they would not understand." "And is it possible," said old Fareham, looking at her almost sourly, "that this is the only thing you can think of?--not your own wrongs, nor his abominable behaviour, nor----" She paused a little, standing by the table. "Oh, you do wrong," she said, "you do wrong! A woman has her pride. If his duty has become--insupportable; it was you who used the word--and life insupportable, do you think a woman like me would hold him to it? Oh, you do wrong! I have put that away. But the children--I cannot put them away! And he was a good father, a kind father. Think of something. If only they might never find out!" Here her voice gave way, and she could say no more. "Horace will have to know," he said, shaking his head. "Why? You could tell him there was some difficulty between us, something that could not be got over. That we were both in the wrong, as people always are in a quarrel. And no doubt I must have been in the wrong, or--or Robert would never have gone so far--so far astray. No doubt I have been wrong; you must have seen it--you with your experience--and yet you never said a word. Why didn't you tell me?--you might have done it so easily. Why didn't you say, 'You make life too hum-drum, too commonplace for him. He wants variety and change?' I would have taken it very well from you. I am not a woman who will not take advice. Why did you never tell me? I could have made so many changes if I had known." He took her hand again, with a great pity, and almost remorse, in his old face. "It is too early," he said, "to do anything. Tell me where I shall find him, and go back to your room and try to rest. Say you are too tired to see the boy, if that is all you are thinking of; and go to bed--go to bed, and try and get a little sleep. I have a great deal of experience, as you say. Leave it to me. I will see him, and then we will talk it over, and think what is best to be done." "You will see--him? What will you say to him, Mr Fareham? Why should you see him? Is not the chapter closed so far as he is concerned?" "Closed? He will come home when he is tired of--the other establishment--is that what you mean him to do?" She blushed like a girl, growing crimson to her hair. "Oh yes," she said, "I know you have a great deal of experience; but, perhaps, here you do not understand. That--that would not be necessary. He is not a man who would--Mr Fareham, you don't suppose I wish him any harm?"