“That’ll do!” said his master in a voice of thunder, and he continued his toilet with a determination that he would sack Jenkins instantly, and turn his wife out of the house. But before taking these drastic steps, he must breakfast. He went heavily downstairs, unfolding a large scented pocket-handkerchief, and stalked into the dining-room; here he was served with devilled kidneys, dry toast, and two strong whiskies and sodas. Thus fortified, he approached with loud, resonant footsteps, the morning-room, where the culprit awaited him in shivering expectation: and flinging the door wide, entered like an avenging fate. “Well, ma’am, I shall be glad to know what the devil brings _you_ here?” he demanded. “The servants had orders not to admit you. Old Jenkins shall be kicked out to-morrow!” “Hugo,” she said, rising, and vainly endeavouring to steady her voice, “of course, I know that after the letter, which no doubt you have read, my coming back like this must seem astonishing.” “Outrageous! Scandalous!” he burst in. “Why, it’s absolutely _shameless_!” “But the truth is, before I got half-way to London I had changed my mind. I found that I couldn’t leave Cara, and so when I met Captain Lumley I told him this, and in spite of all he could urge, I refused to take the final step. We remained talking together too long, and I just missed the last train--the mail. I had said good-bye to him before that, and I went to the station hotel and spent the night there, and came on the first thing this morning. Hugo, I swear to you that I am speaking the truth.” “What a fine cock-and-bull story!” he answered, with a sneer. “We have heard of people missing their trains before. I’m surprised that you and Lumley between you, couldn’t think of something a little _fresher_!” “But you believe me, Hugo?” she implored, “and I may come back?” “No, I’m damned if you shall! Come back, indeed! I got your letter yesterday, and telegraphed at once to my lawyer. You shall be, as you said yourself, dead to me,--and I shall be dead to you. I am not likely to put up with a woman who informs me she is going off with a lover--and no doubt has a row with him, finds she hasn’t bettered herself,--and turns up at home the next day. By Jove, no!” “But where am I to go?” she asked piteously. “What am I to do? I swear to you, that I am as innocent as Cara herself--at least, you will let me see her?” “Not I! And now, madam, we have had enough of this,” and, taking her roughly by the arm, he led her from the anteroom, out into the great hall,--the door of which happened to be open. Without a word he pushed her violently across the threshold, and slammed the door upon her. The fly and luggage had disappeared, there was no one in sight, as the ejected wife went slowly down the steps, and slowly down the avenue, as if she were walking in her sleep; this unexpected blow had been so staggering, that it momentarily stunned her.