"Well, there's the card," he answered brusquely. She took it up, filled with an abrupt, unchristian desire to tear it into fragments. It had a silly black cat in silhouette upon it and she _had_ thought he would come at last.... "Why Klub with a K?" she did allow herself to ask. "Just a literary conceit, I suppose," he answered, trying to control his voice; and that silenced her, because she had no theories as to what a literary conceit might be. But Hubert could not quite allow the matter to rest there. He felt that she was thinking he had acted selfishly and he must prove to her that everything would be all right. What odd disguises can Remorse assume! "You can get Alison to take you," he threw out. "He's sure to be going." "Oh no," answered Helena. "I told him you were coming. He'll be booked. No, I shan't go at all." Face Mrs. Boyd exultant? No, not she. Afterwards, if needed, some excuse. But anyhow not that! She had said she was bringing Hubert. "That's silly, my dear." He did not often call her that. "Alison will take you gladly, I know, or if not you can go alone. You often have before." "Yes," she retorted, "but not when I've told every one that you were taking me. I have a little pride." He shut his paper and got up. He never could bear scenes. "Just as you like," he said, trying to speak evenly. "It's your concern. I was only thinking of your comfort. Whatever you do won't hurt _me_." * * * * * A man can escape everything except himself; and so it chanced that Hubert Brett felt a brute twice, repented twice, about one causerie. He felt it most acutely in his little room. He very nearly went back to her now, a second time, and said so; but then he remembered what a nasty scene it had been, about nothing. Of course in the old anti-marriage days it had been his pet theory that every wedded pair inevitably--by force of Nature, which meant every one to dwell apart--ended in continued rows; but it had seemed so quite impossible with Helena. Perhaps it always did!... So sweet and pliable and ignorant of life she had been--yes, this was a new Helena and more like the old Ruth! No, he would not go back. He would be hanged if he encouraged her. CHAPTER IX CINDERELLA Helena tried not to look as though she minded when Hubert came down, glorious in evening dress at six o'clock. "It _is_ an early start," she said cheerfully. "Yes," he replied; "but that means I shall be home all the earlier. The dinner begins at seven and I shan't make a long speech--trust me--so you can expect me back not later than half past ten or eleven at the very latest."