If Winter Don't Part 13

"Once or twice the sting of your jelly-fish of a conscience made you try to be nice to me. There are words and acts from a man to a woman which may be lovely to the woman if they come spontaneously and naturally. If they are produced as by a force-pump, they are an insult. If you tried to hide the pump, it was a poor effort.

"When you took up with that Tyburn minx, I thought that you had realized the situation, that you saw that I found life with you detestable and intolerable, and that you meant to give me a chance to divorce you. I employed a private detective with what I had saved out of the house-money, and had you watched. The detective reported that there was nothing good enough--or bad enough----for the High Court, and that the woman seemed to be doing most of the work.

"So as the mixture of cowardice and selfishness which you call your conscience would not let you give me a chance to divorce you, I determined to make you divorce me. The first thing to do was to get you out of the way. It is so trying and undignified to elope if a husband is looking on, and possibly interfering. So I adopted a system of intensive spring-cleaning. I don't think I left out anything which could inconvenience and annoy you. It went on and on. No house has been spring-cleaned like this since the world began. I fancy it was the whitewash over your books that finally shunted you. You left in the early morning. I packed at leisure and left in the evening, taking with me a gentleman who financed that great success, Doom Dagshaw's Mammoth Circus.

"As he is not in the book, I may mention that he is a Mr. Nathan Samuel. But no matter. A nose by any other name would smell as efficiently. He is a true Christian with no fault except his love for me.

"The necessary particulars will be sent to your solicitors, and I hope you will then get busy.

"Ta-ta, old crock. Yours, Mabel.

"P.S.--You shouldn't leave oxalic acid about like that. Don't you know it's a poison? I've hidden it underneath your dress-s.h.i.+rts, in case of accidents."

Luke put the letter down. There was a step outside the door and Dot entered.

"Thought I should find you here," said Dot. "Everything all right?"

"Couldn't be better. But why did she leave the letter on the hot-water tap?"

"Oh, that was just a little joke of hers. She said you always got into any hot water that might be going about, and so you'd be sure to find it there."

"Do you see what this means, Dot? It means that in future we can play at boats without any fear of interruption."

"M'yes," said Dot. "It's not the very devil of a game, is it? Been over the house yet? I must say it does look nice, now all the cleaning and decorating's finished. Albert and Hector both noticed it."

"Yes, very nice. I suppose you and Dash would like to be getting dinner for me."

"That's what we're panting after. But it can't be done, because there's nothing to eat. At least, there's nothing for you. Besides, after this afternoon we are both emotionally worn-out. And that's not all. Albert and Hector brought us a bit of news from Gallows. Just you take my tip and ask no questions. You take the train into Dilborough and dine at the 'Crown.' You might--I don't say you will, but you might--get a bit of a surprise. If you hurry you'll catch the 7.5."

Luke thrust his wife's letter into his pocket, and hurried.

5

"No," said the sad-eyed waiter, in reply to Luke's enquiry. "No, we do not serve the dinner on Sunday night. In Dilborough Sunday night, there is what you call, nothing doing. You can have a nice chop."

"I hate chops," said Luke moodily. "All right, get me a chop."

"The lady who stay here, she have a chop too. She also say she hate chops. You have to wait a little time perhaps, because the chef is out Sunday evening. You wait in the drawing-room. It is very nice. Very comfortable. There is a newspaper of last Friday evening."

Luke submitted and entered the fly-haunted drawing-room. He sat down with his head in his hands. Mabel's letter had been characteristically unlike her. Her letters were never in the least bit like herself. That was perhaps their only attraction. It was only in the postscript that he seemed actually to hear her speak.

"Poor Nathan Samuel!" he said to himself. "Poor Moses Nathan Modecai Samuel!"

The door opened and Jona came in, clad in a betrayed-heroine tea-gown.

She looked beautiful but tragic.

"Jona," he cried, springing to his feet.

She shrank back, covering her face with her hands.

"Don't speak to me," she said. "Don't come near me. I'm a leper, a pariah, and an outcast."

"Oh, look here, hang it all, you can't, you know. That's mine. If there's any lepering to be done, I do that. Outcast? How do you mean outcast?"

"Haven't you heard?" she said.

"No," said Luke. "Come and sit on my knee, and tell me all your troubles."

"I oughtn't," she said, but she did.

"You didn't turn up at Victoria yesterday. Couldn't you leave your husband?"

"I couldn't," she said. "I couldn't, because I've not got a husband.

And have never had a husband. One of Bill's previous wives started to make a fuss, and he made a clean breast of it to me. He'd married in two different names before he married me, and both wives are still living. He went to Brighton on Sat.u.r.day to marry one more. Because he wants to get his picture, as the peer convicted of trigamy, on the back page of the '_Daily Mail_,' with the fourth wife inset. So you see what has happened. It was my fault, but that's how I come to be in the pariah cla.s.s. Can you bear me any longer?"

"Yes," said Luke, "you're not heavy."

And then the sad-eyed waiter came in without knocking, and they broke away.

"I beg pardon," said the waiter. "Perhaps I interrupt a little. I come to say the chops is ready. Shall I put the two places close together?"

"Very close together," said Luke.

6

They entered the dining-room.

"You needn't remain," said Luke to the waiter. "We'll help ourselves."

"Ver' good," said the waiter. "I understand. I am since three years of experience in the week-end business. I come when you ring--not before."

Luke and Jona talked together earnestly for an hour. Then they remembered they had been intending to dine. Luke removed the cover from the dish and looked at two large melancholy chops, frozen hard.

"Can we?" said Luke.

"Not in this life," said Jona. "Get it removed."

Luke produced a visiting-card, and wrote on the back of it: "A Present for a Good Dog. From Jona and Lukie!" He put the card in the dish and replaced the cover. Then he investigated the wine list, rang the bell, and ordered champagne and dry biscuits to be put in the drawing-room.

(The reader is requested to look out. Once more the numbers of the section will be used as a part of the sections. The price of paper is still very high.)

"Just imagine," said Luke. "Only this morning I was convinced that life was h.e.l.l. Absolute h.e.l.l."

"And now?" asked Jona, shyly.

"Now I know that it's