What followed showed that Mrs. Strickland was a woman of character.
Whatever anguish she suffered she concealed. She saw shrewdly that the
world is quickly bored by the recital of misfortune, and willingly
avoids the sight of distress. Whenever she went out—and compassion for
her misadventure made her friends eager to entertain her—she bore a
demeanour that was perfect. She was brave, but not too obviously;
cheerful, but not brazenly; and she seemed more anxious to listen to
the troubles of others than to discuss her own. Whenever she spoke of
her husband it was with pity. Her attitude towards him at first
perplexed me. One day she said to me:
“You know, I’m convinced you were mistaken about Charles being alone.
From what I’ve been able to gather from certain sources that I can’t
tell you, I know that he didn’t leave England by himself.”
“In that case he has a positive genius for covering up his tracks.”
She looked away and slightly coloured.
“What I mean is, if anyone talks to you about it, please don’t
contradict it if they say he eloped with somebody.”
“Of course not.”
She changed the conversation as though it were a matter to which she
attached no importance. I discovered presently that a peculiar story
was circulating among her friends. They said that Charles Strickland
had become infatuated with a French dancer, whom he had first seen in
the ballet at the Empire, and had accompanied her to Paris. I could not
find out how this had arisen, but, singularly enough, it created much
sympathy for Mrs. Strickland, and at the same time gave her not a
little prestige. This was not without its use in the calling which she
had decided to follow. Colonel MacAndrew had not exaggerated when he
said she would be penniless, and it was necessary for her to earn her
own living as quickly as she could. She made up her mind to profit by
her acquaintance with so many writers, and without loss of time began
to learn shorthand and typewriting. Her education made it likely that
she would be a typist more efficient than the average, and her story
made her claims appealing. Her friends promised to send her work, and
took care to recommend her to all theirs.
The MacAndrews, who were childless and in easy circumstances, arranged
to undertake the care of the children, and Mrs. Strickland had only
herself to provide for. She let her flat and sold her furniture. She
settled in two tiny rooms in Westminster, and faced the world anew. She
was so efficient that it was certain she would make a success of the
adventure.