“Yes, by God!” said Godfrey, setting his teeth and feeling very fierce. It did not occur to either of them, in their unhumorous mood, that when she married he was a gawky boy of sixteen. Gradually they came to vital things. “If I were little Mrs. Tomkins, whom nobody knows, we could get a hidden nest somewhere, you and I. It would be happiness, and it would be hurting or betraying nobody. But I’m Lady Edna Donnithorpe, related to half the peerage, and known by sight to everybody who looks at an illustrated paper.” “Why not cut everything and make a bolt of it?” asked Godfrey, glaring straight in front of him at the cheerless, almost empty road, his young face set very stem. “Your career——” He cursed his career. “Your soldier’s post. How can you leave it? You’re doing a man’s work for your country.” “Hell take it!” said he. “Take what?” “The whole infernal universe,” he growled, and swerved viciously so as to avoid imminent collision with an indignant motor-bus. Again they came to the bed-rock fact of his soldier’s duty. On their return journey it rained in torrents. “You’ll get wet through if you walk,” said he, when they arrived at their trysting spot. “I’ll drive you up to the house and chance it.” He chanced it, helped her out of the car and stood on the pavement, watching her until she had let herself in with her latchkey. She ran upstairs, to be confronted with her husband at the door of his room which was on the same landing. He was in his dressing-gown, and one side of his face was shaven, the other lathered. “I thought you went to a canteen in the mornings?” “So I do,” she replied calmly. “Does young Baltazar work there too?” “Young Baltazar very often calls for me, when it rains, on his way to the War Office, and gives me a lift home.” “You’re seeing far too much of that young man.” “The last time we discussed the Baltazar family,” she said with a scornful laugh, “you accused me of an intrigue with his father. My dear Edgar, go on with your shaving and don’t be idiotic.” She flung into her room angry and humiliated. After all, Edgar had the right to consider his good name, even though his jealousy could not proceed from betrayed affection. This was the first time he had referred to Godfrey in any way. Uneasiness beset her; so did the eternal question of the deceitful wife: “How much did he know?” They did not meet that day till dinner-time—it was one of the rare occasions on which they dined alone together—when he seemed to be making amends for the morning’s attack by more than usual courteous conversation on current events. They parted amicably. The next afternoon, arriving home very late, she was surprised at seeing him coming, half dressed for dinner, from her room. He smiled in a friendly way and held up a button-hook. “Mine’s nowhere to be seen—that confounded new parlourmaid—I hope you don’t mind.” “We’re getting quite domestic,” she said ironically. “It’s pleasanter,” said he.