Up the pathway leading from the Zoo a little white-suited man of five
came prancing and screaming, followed by another of three doing the
same. The French governess marched primly and sedately behind them.
"You see?" Edith said, quickly. "I must go. I can't see them
to-night--or speak to them--or kiss them--or hear them say their
prayers--or anything. You wouldn't understand; but--but I couldn't bear
it. You must tell them I've gone to spend a few nights with Aunt Emily,
as I did when she was ill. You must say that to the servants, too. Tell
Jenny she needn't send me anything--yet. I have some things there--that
I left the last time--"
"Oh, you're not going to stay all night," he groaned. "You'll come
back."
"Very well. If I come back--I come back. It will be so much the better
or so much the worse, as the case may be. If I come back, it will be
because I accept the compromise you make between me and--and your
other--"
He broke in hastily. "It's not a compromise--and there's no 'other.' If
you could see how far from vital the whole thing is, from a man's point
of view--"
"Unfortunately, I'm only a woman, and can see it only from a woman's
point of view. So that, if I don't come back, it will be
because--because--the Edith who was your wife is dead beyond
resurrection."
"But she isn't!"
"Perhaps not. We must see. I shall know better when I've--I've been away
from you a little."
"And in the mean time you may be risking your happiness and mine."