For the twentieth time Hilda Garling asked herself the same question—Whyhad her husband asked Jack Denver to stay? Mechanically she helpedherself to some dish which the footman was handing to her, hardlyknowing what it was she took. Why had he asked Jack to stay?
Such a thing was so completely foreign to her husband’s habits of late.For the last year or so he had grown more and more of a recluse,shutting himself away for hours and even days at a time, and having hismeals served in his own room, until the big house standing back from thePortsmouth road had seemed a veritable prison to his wife. Not that itwas much better when her husband did come out of his seclusion, but atany rate he was a human being of her own class.
She had tried asking people to stay, but it wasn’t a success. When yourhost plainly shows you that your presence fails to amuse him, even themost thick-skinned guest begins to look up the trains for London. Shehad tried going away to stay with friends, but that was only a temporarypanacea. And then a year ago even that relief had been denied her. Herhusband had complained once or twice of a pain in the chest, andalthough he scouted the idea that it was anything but indigestion, he atlength agreed to do as she wished and send for a doctor. And the doctorhad spoken to her after his examination.
“Mrs. Garling,” he said, “I am sorry to have to be the bearer of—I won’tsay bad, but of serious news. It is no mere question of indigestion, Ifear. It is heart trouble—and it is pronounced. Please understand me.There is no reason, if your husband lives a quiet life and avoidsexcitement or undue exertion of all sorts, why he shouldn’t live foranother twenty or thirty years. But any sudden physical call on hissystem—and the chances are, I am afraid, it would kill him.”
“Have you told my husband?” she asked him.
“Not quite as clearly as I have told you,” answered the doctor. “But heis fully aware that his condition is more serious than he thought.”
From that time on she had hardly ever slept a night away from the Pines.For Hilda Garling had the instinct of playing the game very fullydeveloped. It was hypocrisy to pretend to herself that she loved him:looking back on the five years of their married life she realized thatshe never had loved him. Like so many girls fresh from the schoolroom,she had been captivated by a brilliantly clever and handsome man somefourteen years older than herself. She had thought herself in love withhim, and her parents, having inquired into Hubert Garling’s social andfinancial status, and having found both—especially the latter—eminentlysatisfactory, had put no obstacle in the way of what seemed to them avery desirable match.
But even before the honeymoon was over disillusion had begun to set in.That Hubert had a jealous nature she had found out while they wereengaged, and then