It was all very well to say “Say on,” but how was she to begin? Now that she had caged her bird she began to realise the delicate task that lay before her. She well knew that it was a proverbially thankless and dangerous mission to interfere between husband and wife; and Regy, although he had often stood a little boy at her knee, and come to her with all his grievances, was now a man, known to be clever, distinguished, and thoroughly able to think and act, not only for himself but for others. How well he looked in his mess-dress, so bronzed, soldierlike, and handsomer than ever! He was leaning back with his arms clasped behind his head, regarding her with lazy amusement. She must begin, she thought, _somehow_, and forthwith broke the ice clumsily enough by saying: “Had you a pleasant evening, Regy?” “A pleasant evening!” he echoed. “Why, you foolish old lady, you never mean to say that you have sat up till nearly two o’clock to ask me such a question?” “No, not quite,” she replied, laughing nervously. “The truth is, Regy--and don’t think I am inhospitable, or want to turn you out, or anything----” And she paused. “Well, and what is the truth, as you call it?” he asked brusquely. “When are you going to Monkswood?” “To Monkswood!” he repeated, suddenly sitting erect and looking at her fixedly. “That is easily answered----never!” “Oh Reginald, you can’t mean it! Do you not wish to see Alice or your boy?” “We will not speak of Alice, if you please,” he said gravely. “I have nothing to say to her; but you must manage that I shall see the boy somehow, Helen,” he added eagerly. “Could you get him up here for a few days? I’m off to Norway with Fordyce the end of the month.” “I am quite _sure_ that Alice would never allow him out of her sight, and I will never have him here without his mother. Do you mean me to understand that you will not suffer me to speak to you about her?” she asked hotly. “I do. Not even with you, Helen, my more than sister, will I discuss my wife--that was.” “Then,” exclaimed Helen with rising indignation, “things are at a deadlock. Alice will not speak of you to anyone, you will not suffer me to mention her name, and neither of you will have anything to say to the other. I know I could reconcile you both, were you not so inconceivably proud and stiff-necked.” “Look here, Helen,” he said, rising and beginning to pace about the room, “I know you mean well and kindly, but take my advice and leave us alone. We get on best apart. Our marriage was a tremendous blunder; we both know that _now_. I have endeavoured to forget that I have ever had a wife. Alice and I are utter _strangers_. As her guardian, I have taken excellent care of her interests, and studied her comfort and happiness as far as it is in my power; but as her _husband_” (and he emphasized the word), “I have done with her.”