I had to go to Scotland two days ago. I went by night. I promised Jo I’ld be back to-night without fail. We dined without dressing that evening, and Jo seemed rather quiet. I thought it was because I was going away. And—God forgive a fool—I tried to cheer her up. I said that when I was back we’d go down to Bond Street and ask the price of that ring. And Jo put her head in my lap and burst into tears. . . . Of course, I see now. At the time I thought . . . I kissed her good-bye and went. At twenty to seven to-night I was at King’s Cross, and I got the ring with about a minute to spare. That’s it—in the box on the mantelpiece. Then I drove home. As I let myself in, Bugle and Mason appeared. As the latter was taking my coat— “Where’s her ladyship?” said I. “Her ladyship’s out, sir,” said Mason. “I think she’s been called out of Town.” I stared at the fellow blankly. “‘Called out of Town’?” said I. “I—I believe so, sir. But she left a note, on your table, sir. I expect that’ll say . . .” I hurried into the study, wondering what on earth . . . I see by my watch that that was four hours ago—four hours. And I am thirty-six and as hard as iron. In the ordinary course of things I shall live to at least sixty-five—another twenty-nine years. How many hours is that? Well, there are the facts. And here is the letter she left. And here am I. I am the latest instance of that most common unfortunate—a man who has lost his wife. Will nothing make me realize it? I write these things down—these ghastly, frightening facts. I say them over aloud—without result. They are ugly strings of words, but that is all. I know that any second I shall hear her key in the lock. And Bugle knows it, too. He is lying couched by the door, with his head between his paws. He has lain like that for three hours . . . waiting . . . waiting. . . . And he is losing his labour: because, though Jo has gone out, she will never come in . . . never. . . . I think I am beginning to comprehend the truth. The sight of that little white dog lying there by the door seems to have—to have emphasized something . . . rammed home . . . something. I know. I know what it is. I realize his folly in lying there. I see that he is a fool—because he is waiting for something which never will come to pass. I don’t lie there and wait, because I know better. And I know better because I can read . . . read Jo’s letter . . . which says . . . that—she—is—not—coming—back . . . not—coming—back . . . My beautiful, darling wife is not coming back any more.