She avoided answering, but said, 'I've been thinking things over, Cecil, and assuming that what you told me yesterday was true--that you met _that woman_ for the first time again yesterday--I will not--go away. We will remain outwardly as we have been. But as long as I believe, as I do, that you are in love with her, I intend to be merely a friend to you.' 'A friend? What utter nonsense! I refuse to consent to anything so absurd. I won't stand it!' 'I shall not,' continued Hyacinth, taking no notice, 'interfere with your freedom at all. I don't ask you not to see her. You can go there when you like. I couldn't bear the idea that I was putting a restraint on your liberty, so that even if you offered--which you haven't--to give up seeing her at all--I wouldn't accept such a _sacrifice_!' Cecil laughed impatiently. 'Considering I've avoided her till yesterday--' 'Ah, you admit it! That shows--that proves you care for her.' 'Don't you own yourself you were probably wrong--that you misunderstood about the drive?' he asked. 'I assume that I can believe your word--that is why I'm not leaving you. Do you accept my terms?' His eyes flashed; he walked towards her violently, overturning a little table. 'No, I don't,' he said, 'and I never shall! It's infernal, unjust, ridiculous. You are my wife!' She seemed not offended at his violence, but she said-- 'Think it over till tomorrow. You understand that unless you agree to our each going our own way I shall not remain here.' He came a step nearer. At this moment the door opened and the servant announced lunch. Cecil, without saying another word, went out of the house. The door banged loudly. At the sound Hyacinth burst into tears. 'Oh, why am I so miserable?' she sobbed. CHAPTER XXXVI Raggett's Sense of Humour 'Edith,' said Bruce, 'I'm rather worried about Raggett.' 'Are you? Why?' 'Well, the last time I met him, he came up and asked me if I knew the difference between a sardine and a hedgehog. Of course I said no, thinking it was some riddle, but he only answered, "Then you _must_ be a fool!"' Edith smiled. 'Is that all?' 'No, it is _not_ all. It will give you a shock, what I'm going to tell you now. At the office--at the _office_, mind--I received a letter from Raggett, written on a crumpet.' 'On a what?' 'On a crumpet. The letter was gummed on; the thing had a stamp, and was properly addressed to me, and it came through the post. The note itself was quite rational, but the postscript--what do you suppose the postscript said?' 'I can't think.' 'It said, "PS--Please excuse my writing to you on a crumpet, as I haven't a muffin!"' Edith laughed. 'It's all very well to laugh, but it's a very sad thing. The poor chap is going off his head. I don't know what to do about it.'