‘Confound you!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do you suppose I should ask for it, if I didn’t require it? Give it me at once, or else send the girl out for some more. Pour me out a soda, and put a couple of lemons into it, and a spoonful of bitters. That will pull me round a bit. I feel quite confused with trying to see my way out of the mess we are in.’ ‘Shall you be back to-night, Godfrey?’ ‘Don’t know. It all depends. Perhaps I may be detained late. I’ve got to see some fellows at the club; but don’t sit up for me any way. And just put out my dress clothes, will you? I can’t go out this figure,’ and lifting the tankard to his lips, he drained off his ‘pick-me-up’ at a draught. His wife left him without another word. Her lips were compressed, and her eyes darted scorn, but she did not let him see them. She knew he had lied to her, as he had done for some time past, but if she put him on his guard, she should never gain an opportunity to learn the truth. So she laid out his evening suit upon the bed, and placed his white tie upon the toilet-table, and lighted the candles just as though she believed he would take all that trouble to meet some man on business at a city club. And Godfrey Harland fell into the trap. Heated and confused by the amount of liquor he had imbibed, he forgot all about the letter he had received, and issued from the bedroom half-an-hour afterwards in full evening dress, leaving it behind him in the pocket of his tweed coat. He did not deign to say good-night to his wife, nor to give her any further information of his proceedings, but turning on his heel, slammed the front door, and left the house. When Iris was convinced that he was really gone, she rose from her seat and walked into the bedroom. ‘I _must_ know what takes him away from home so often,’ she thought. ‘I am sure it is not business, and if there is any other woman in the case, it is time I asserted myself, and took some action in the matter. Under any circumstances, he makes my life a hell, but there is no need for me to bear more insult than I am obliged to.’ She put her hand into the pocket of the coat which he had thrown upon a chair, and drew forth the letter. It was addressed in a writing which looked half mercantile, and half illiterate, and had a great many flourishes about it. As Iris’s eyes fell on its contents, her pale face grew still paler with horror. Godfrey had been brutal, unfaithful, and cruel to her, but she had never thought so badly of him as this--that he could contemplate kicking her off like an old shoe, and leaving her to starve in England, whilst he sought his fortunes in a new country. And yet, what else could that letter mean?