“I know that. A lot of it’s been my fault, and a lot— your upbringing. You haven’t had a fair start. Well, you shall have it now, ’Lisbeth. By yourself. And—I think—we’d better discuss things from the business point of view now.” He paused, fighting the longing to take her in his arms. “Do you propose to stay here, or will you take a little flat somewhere?”

“I think—I shall stay here. I—I like it. I couldn’t afford a flat.”

“You can afford what you like, Elizabeth. You don’t imagine I am going to let you provide for yourself? Your allowance will be paid into whatever branch you name.”

“Oh, please no! I—I couldn’t, Stephen!”

“You must,” he said. “You’re still my wife.”

“I shan’t touch it!” she said vehemently. “I couldn’t! You can’t make me do that!”

He shrugged, but she saw his mouth set obstinately.

“It will be paid in. Give me credit for some pride too, Elizabeth.”

Again she gave way.

“Very well. But—I shan’t touch it.”

“But it’ll be there. Surely I’m not as hateful to you as that?”

“No—but—I couldn’t!”

There was a pause.

“Shall your things be sent to you here?” Stephen asked.

“Yes, p-please. I—I think I shall go away—for a time. To the sea, perhaps. By myself.”

His eyelids flickered.

“Take Sarah,” he said. “You’re such a—babe.”

“I—I’d rather go alone. I shan’t come to any harm. I—I don’t want to see anyone—for a bit.”

He was frowning. He looked down at her.

“May I give you the address of some rooms? I know the landlady. I’d feel happier about you, ’Lisbeth.”

“Oh—if you like! Thank you.”

He drew out his pocket-book and wrote an address.

“At Torquay,” he said, giving the slip of paper into her hand. “I think you’ll like it.” He rose, and she saw that his face was almost haggard. “I think—that’s all. Except—Goodbye.”

She rose also.

“And—and thank you. I do—appreciate—what you’re doing for me. I’m—I’m sorry for—everything. I suppose—my people—know?”

“No. I rang up to ask if you were there—but I was careful not to—let them suspect. ... You see, I thought then that—well, never mind.”

“I shall have to tell them,” she said. Then she put out her hand. “Goodbye, Stephen.”

He took her hand and kissed it for a long moment.

“No, ’Lisbeth. Only— au revoir.”

Chapter Twenty

Elizabeth left London almost immediately for Torquay. Mentally she was bruised. All these months of strain had preyed on her nerves, so that now her whole system cried out for peace and rest. She left most of her baggage at Baker Street, and with one small trunk journeyed west.