The thing was an amazing revelation to Pamela. Though she had realised for a long while that Herbert's love for her was no longer of the ardent quality that at one time, when separation had seemed imminent, had made their parting impossible, she had not supposed, despite the warning in his wife's letter, despite her own bitter experience in watching the waning of his love, that he was a man of loose principles who pursued women idly for the gratification of a sensual nature. The discovery was a shock to her. She felt wounded and humiliated. It was an added degradation for her to reflect that the man she had loved so well, who had ruined her life, for whose sake she was living, according to the world's judgment, in sin, was not the fine character she had believed him to be,--was merely a selfish profligate, hunting women for his pleasure, and carelessly breaking their lives. At least she would save Blanche from him, if that were possible. It was no easy task for Pamela to undertake. She lacked the power of the wife's authority; and she realised perfectly that it was the lack of this power which made Arnott so brutally indifferent to her disapproval. When she lodged her complaint he flew into a rage. It was at night when, Blanche having retired, they were alone together in the drawing-room. Arnott had been out of the room when Blanche left it; he was frequently absent from the room about that hour; Pamela knew quite well that he was in the habit of waylaying the girl on the stairs. When he entered, carrying the glass of whisky which was the ostensible reason for his absence, she met him with the announcement that she intended to part with Blanche and revert to the system of a coloured nurse for the children. "What for?" he demanded, and reddened awkwardly. Pamela regarded him steadily. "I do not think it wise to have her in the house," she answered. "You don't need to ask my reason. You are quite aware why I consider her an unfit companion for my children." "Look here!" he said. He placed the glass he carried on a table, and approached the sofa on which she was seated, and stood leaning against the head of it, looking at her angrily. "You're fond of taking that tone lately. I don't like it. What the devil do you mean by your insinuations?" "Need we discuss," she said, "what is so flagrant and abominable? You know what I mean. You have given me every occasion lately for distrusting you." "I suppose you are jealous?" he said. "Good Lord!" He tapped the floor irritably with his foot, and eyed her for a second or so in silence. Then he leaned suddenly towards her. "Suppose I insist on her remaining?" he asked, his face on a level with hers. "Suppose I put my foot down? ... You've no right to object." Pamela's expression froze as she stared bade into his angry eyes. Not at once did she grasp the magnitude of the insult he flung at her; as his meaning broke fully upon her, she whitened to the lips.