As for Haworth himself, he would sleep downstairs on a cot in his drafting room, as he had often done before. This would give them the entire floor to themselves. If, however, he started any of his rowdyism again, or mistreated his wife, or threatened her with mistreatment, he would be turned over to the police and locked up. That was all. Good morning. It was the matter of his wife being given a room by herself that put a knife in him. A dull but furious jealousy began to rage somewhere in his interior. Though he had a horror of losing these comfortable and cost-free quarters, that aversion was as nothing beside the rabid fury generated by his suddenly aroused suspicion. The mere thought of what might be—when he allowed himself to project his imaginings on the subject as far as that—threw him into a fit of murderous passion. He’d keep his eyes open! He’d get on to it pretty damned quick if any funny business was going on. And if it was —— —— From that time and for more than a week it could have been noticed—and probably was by Hulda—that Mr. Findlay went in to Boston with much less frequency than formerly, and that when he did so he arrived back at most unexpected times,—once coming in quite hurriedly by one of the rear entrances fifteen minutes after he had left the house at the front door, apparently departing for the day. It so happened, though, that neither of the two people Findlay was endeavoring to surprise in some sort of misdemeanor, was in the slightest degree aware of his violent spasm of watchfulness. They were both fighting desperately to struggle out of the torrent that had swept them off their feet, and couldn’t be expected to take notice of other things. Naturally, under the circumstances, Augustus discovered nothing. There _was_ nothing. Even when they met alone, only a few commonplace words, if any, passed between them. He never once overheard the least thing that was out of the way when it happened that they were alone together and he could manage to listen, and when they both went out, as they did nearly every afternoon—Haworth for long walks on the railroad track, Edith to trudge about the suburban roads or sometimes to go in to Boston—and he followed one or the other of them, he never found that they met anywhere or came within miles of meeting. As he was unable to gather fuel for his jealousy, it began to burn with diminished ferocity, and it wasn’t long before he revived his briefly interrupted custom of returning late at night from his alleged business trips to the city, bringing with him a heavy load of whatever intoxicant he could buy with the money he borrowed from Haworth. For a while, however, his subconscious department succeeded in keeping uppermost in his mind the idea that it would be well to control himself when he came in, and to get into bed as quietly as possible. * * * * *