"I 'aven't got any little children. She's leavin' 'er 'usband to get away from' im, to please 'erself. I'm leavin' mine to bring 'im to me." She paused, pensive. "Oh, no, I'm not afraid of Mrs. Brodrick. She 'asn't got a 'eart." "No?" "Not wot _I_ should call a 'eart." "Perhaps not," said Laura. "I used to hate her when she came about the place. Leastways I tried to hate her, and I couldn't." She meditated in their silence. "If it's got to be anybody it'd best be 'er. She's given 'im all she's got to give, and he sees 'ow much it is. 'E goes to 'er, I know, and 'e'll keep on going; and she--she'll 'old 'im orf and on--I can see 'er doin' of it, and I don't care. As long as she 'olds' im she keeps other women orf of 'im." Their silence marvelled at her. "Time and again I've cried my eyes out, and _that_'s no good. I've got," said Rose, "to look at it sensible. She's really keepin' 'im for me." Down-stairs, alone with Laura, she revealed herself more fully. "I dare say 'e won't ever ask me to come back," she said. "But once I've gone out of the house for good and all, 'e'll come to me now and again. He's bound to. You see, _she_'s no good to him. And maybe, if I was to 'ave a child--I might----" She sighed, but in her eyes there kindled a dim hope, shining through tears. "Wot I shall miss is--workin' for 'im." Her mouth trembled. Her tears fell. LXVI Between seven and eight o'clock on Tuesday evening, Tanqueray, in an execrable temper, returned to his home. The little house had an air of bright expectancy, not to say of festival; it was so intensely, so unusually illuminated. Each window, with its drawn blind, was a golden square in the ivy-darkened wall. Tanqueray let himself in noiselessly with his latchkey. He took up the pile of letters that waited for him on the hat-stand in the hall, and turned into the dining-room. It smiled at him brilliantly with all its lights. So did the table, laid for dinner; the very forks and spoons smiled, twinkling and limping in irrepressible welcome. A fire burned ostentatiously in the hearth-place. It sent out at him eager, loquacious tongues of flame, to draw him to the insufferable endearments of the hearth. He was aware now that what he was most afraid of in this horrible coming back was his wife's insupportable affection. He turned the lights down a little lower. All his movements were noiseless. He was afraid that Rose would hear him and would come running down. He went up-stairs, treading quietly. He meant to take his letters to his study and read them there. He might even answer some of them. Anything to stave off the moment when he must meet Rose. The door of her bedroom was wide open. The light flared so high that he judged that Rose was in there and about to appear. He swung himself swiftly and dexterously round the angle of the stair-rail, and so reached his own door. She must have heard him go in, but there was no answering movement from her room.