more bearable. My husband grew jealous of him, almost directly after my marriage. I saw it, and, God forgive me, it amused me, and I let it go on—in fact, I encouraged it. That was my mistake, and I paid dearly for it. I believe he loved me at first; it was my fault that he did not continue to do so. Then my baby was born, and, a month afterwards, somehow or other we quarrelled, and he said things to me which no woman ever forgets. He said it was not his child. I never forgot it, and it is a very short time ago that I forgave it. For two years after his death, as you know, I travelled abroad, and I fought against it, and I believe, before God, that I have forgiven him. Then I came back to London. But after that day when he said those things to me, we grew further and further apart. I interested myself in other things, in the poor, and so on, and he took to drinking. That killed him. He was run over in the street, as he came back from somewhere where he had been dining. But he was run over because he was dead drunk at the time. When I was abroad I came under the influence of a certain Roman Catholic priest. He did not convert me, nor did he try to, but he helped me very much; and one day, I remember the day very well, I was almost in despair, because I could not forgive the wrong my dead husband had done me, somehow a change began in me. I can tell you no more than that a change comes, and it is there. It is the grace of God. There, Dodo, that is my history, and there is this you may learn from it, that you must be on your guard against making a mistake. You must never let Chesterford know how wide the gulf is between you. It will be a constant effort, I know, but it is all you can do. Set a watch on yourself; let your indifference be your safeguard, your warning."
Mrs. Vivian stood up. Her eyes were full of tears, and she laid her hands on Dodo's shoulders. Dodo felt comfort in the presence of this strong woman, who had wrestled and conquered.
Dodo looked affectionately at her, and, with one of those pretty motions that came so naturally to her, she pressed her back into her chair, and knelt beside her.
"Dear Vivy," she said, "my little troubles have made you cry. I am so sorry, dear. You are very good to me. But I want to ask you one thing. About that man your husband was jealous of—"
"No, no," said Mrs. Vivian quickly; "that was only one of the incidents which I had to tell you to make the story intelligible."
Dodo hesitated.
"You are sure you aren't thinking of anyone in my case—of Jack, for instance?" she suddenly said.
Mrs. Vivian did not answer for a moment. Then she said,—
"Dodo, I am going to be very frank with you. He is an instance—in a way. I don't mean to suppose for a moment that Chesterford is jealous of him, in fact, I know he can't be—it isn't in him; but he is a good instance of the sort of thing that makes you tend to neglect your husband."
"But you don't think he is an instance in particular?" demanded Dodo. "I don't mean to bind myself in any way, but I simply want to know."
Mrs. Vivian went straight to the point:
"That is a question which you can only decide for yourself," she said. "I cannot pretend to judge."
Dodo smiled.
"Then I will decide for myself," she said. "You see, Jack is never dull. I daresay you may think him so, but I don't. He always manages to amuse me, and, on the whole, the more I am amused the less bored I get in the intervals. He tides me over the difficult places. I allow they are difficult."
"Ah, that is exactly what you mustn't allow," said Mrs. Vivian. "You don't seem to realise any possible deficiency in yourself."
"Oh, yes, I do," said Dodo, as if she was announcing the most commonplace fact in the world. "I know I am deficient. I don't appreciate devotion, I don't appreciate the quality that makes one gaze and gaze, as it says in the hymn. It is rather frog-like that gazing; what do you call it—batrachian. Now, Maud is batrachian. I daresay it is a very high quality, but I don't quite live up to it. There are, of course, heaps of excellent things one doesn't live up to, like the accounts of the Stock Exchange in the Times. I fully understand that the steadiness of stockings makes a difference to somebody, only it doesn't make any difference to me."
"Dodo, you are incorrigible," said Mrs. Vivian, laughing in spite of herself. "I give you up—only, do the best you can. I believe, in the main, you agree with me. And now I must be off. You said Lord Chesterford wished to see me. I suppose he is downstairs."
"I think I shall come too," said Dodo.
So they went down together. Lord Chesterford was in his study.
"Do you know what Mrs. Vivian has been saying to me?" remarked Dodo placidly, as she laid her hand on his shoulder. "She has been telling me I do not love you enough—isn't she ridiculous?"
Mrs. Vivian for the moment was nonplussed, but she recovered herself quickly.
"Dodo is very naughty to-day," she said. "She misconstrues everything I say."
"I don't think it's likely you said that," said he, capturing Dodo's hand, "because it isn't true."
"I am certainly de trop," murmured Mrs. Vivian, turning to go.
Dodo's hand lay unresistingly in his.
"She has been so good and brave," said Lord Chesterford to Mrs. Vivian, "she makes me feel ashamed."
Mrs. Vivian felt an immense admiration for him.
"I said you deserved a very great deal," she said, putting out her hand to him. "I must go, my carriage has been waiting an hour."
He retained Dodo's hand, and they saw her to the door.
The footman met them in the hall.
"Mr. Broxton wants to know whether you can see him, my lady," he said to Dodo.
"Would you like to see Jack?" she asked Chesterford.
"I would rather you told him you can't," he said.
"Of course I will," she answered. She turned to the footman. "Say I am engaged, but he may come again to-morrow and I will see him. You don't mind my seeing him, do you, Chesterford?"
"No, no, dear," he said.
Dodo and Chesterford turned back to the drawing-room. Jack was on the steps.
"I thought you were engaged at this hour," Mrs. Vivian said to him.
"So I was," he answered. "Dodo asked me to come and see her."
Volume II
And far out, drifting helplessly on that grey, angry sea, I saw a small boat at the mercy of the winds and waves. And my guide said to me, 'Some call the sea "Falsehood," and that boat "Truth," and others call the sea "Truth," and the boat "Falsehood;" and, for my part, I think that one is right as the other.'—The Professor of Ignorance.
Chapter Eleven
