Elizabeth partook of a frugal meal at a tea-shop in the near vicinity. She bought an evening paper to read; she had never before known what a number of divorces there were. She read one case till her face grew hot as she pictured herself in the witness-box. After that she studied the racing news and the report of the debate in the Commons.

She spent the evening alternately staring into the fire and reading what seemed to be a very dull book.

“It will be better later,” she thought. “When I’m more used to being by myself—and when I’ve got something to do.”

Miss Arden came to see her next morning. She found Elizabeth composing a list of groceries.

“Oh, my darling!” she said, for no particular reason.

“Hullo, Auntie! Sit down,” Elizabeth said. She had been feeling miserable and helpless, but she would not let Miss Arden see this. “I’m making a list. Such an awful job! I’ve no idea what quantities of everything I’ll want!”

“If only you would come home!” Miss Arden sighed. “I can’t bear to think of you all by yourself. It’s not fitting. You’re so young and inexperienced. When I think of that man—”

“Please don’t let’s talk about Stephen!” Elizabeth said. “I’m enjoying myself no end. How many pounds of sugar shall I order?”

“Two of each sort. Oh, my dear child, I don’t know how you can be so cheerful! It’s such a dreadful thing to happen! In our family, too! If your poor mother could but see—”

“Do you think I’ll need any rice? I never eat it, but is it used for anything but puddings?”

“No. And if you had to live by yourself—but I cannot see why you want to—you might at least have come to South Kensington. Being here is nearly as bad as being out of town. ’Bus 30 is always full, and it means I have to take the Underground and then change. Really, Elizabeth, I don’t understand you. I should have thought that you’d have wanted to be with us at such a time.”

Elizabeth was silent.

“You’ve changed, Elizabeth. I said so to your father as soon as I saw you after your honeymoon. Only of course he couldn’t see it. Men are so blind. So selfishly blind. They only care for themselves. Poor child, you’ve found that out.”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “No. Stephen—hasn’t been— selfish. He—he was—anything but that.”

“It’s sweet of you to stand up for him, my dear, but I know what husbands are.”

“That’s rather clever of you, Aunt, considering that you’ve never had one,” Elizabeth said smoothly. She was surprised at herself; it was the sort of thing Stephen might have said.