“Very well. I don’t ask you to forgive me. You’ve never understood me. I was never a suitable wife for you, and we can’t do each other justice,” said Lady Sarah. “However, we need not trouble one another any longer. I’ll get back your snuff-boxes if I can.” “No, no. I don’t want them back. I don’t want ever to see again anything to remind me of this terrible day.” Lady Sarah threw out her hands in a gesture of helpless despair. “Very well. You shall not see anything to remind you of it, if I can help it. Of course for one thing, you don’t want to see me again.” He looked at her sternly, but she would not meet his eyes. She went on quickly: “I’ll go back to my father’s house. Whatever has to be arranged for the future you can arrange with him and with my mother. I don’t care what becomes of me. I’ve not been treated properly: I’ve been treated as if I were a doll. My life has been spoilt, and I have been sacrificed to other people’s blundering. Very well. I’ll do what I can to efface myself, and let us hear no more about it. You’ve got back your picture, and that’s all you wanted. It will console you for the loss of a wife whom you never cared to try to understand.” She grew more and more excited as she went on, and ended by throwing herself on a sofa in a paroxysm of hysterical weeping. Sir Robert stood motionless in the middle of the room, while Jack Rotherfield eyed him stealthily from near the window. His wife’s wild accusations only affected him in proportion as they seemed to support or to refute the idea of some graver guilt than theft. He would not look at her, would not let himself be softened. “I will take the night,” said he gravely, “to consider what to do.” He turned abruptly to his wife. “You had better go upstairs at once,” added he, “and stay in your room until the morning.” She sat up, indignant. “Am I to be kept a prisoner?” she asked. “Why not send for the police and give me in charge at once?” “You will stay in your room,” said he, unmoved by her words, “until I send for you in the morning.” “I see. I am to consider myself in custody. And pray, who is to be my gaoler? Not Miss Pembury. I won’t be watched by that girl. I suppose now that you are going to get rid of me, you will arrange for her to stay here.” Sir Robert made no answer. But Jack struck in, anxious not to have Rhoda’s influence to combat as well as that of the baronet. Although he had failed to make his peace with her that evening, he knew that she had not, so far, told the worst that she had to tell, and it was worth an effort to try to keep her mouth shut, if only on that affair of ten years ago to which, as he knew, she had a clue. So he suddenly struck into the conversation with an appearance of great magnanimity.