To what end? To what purpose? The idea of separation or divorce had always been distasteful to him, but some things were worse—a thousand times worse, after love had turned to contempt, and respect to scorn. Of course there was Laurel. But wasn’t it better for Laurel not to grow up beneath the shadow of constant chafing and irritation? He could see Laurel. She could come to New York occasionally. He could have his child alone.

On a certain week-end in January, which Stephen forced himself to spend in Milhampton, he had found upon his arrival some cigarette ashes in a tray upstairs in the little sitting-room off Stella’s bedroom. Stella didn’t smoke. At that time few of the women in Milhampton smoked. Stephen didn’t refer to the cigarette ashes to Stella. He wasn’t too listless, too desireless to care who had left the ashes there. He didn’t doubt Stella’s fidelity. Not then. It was just another offense in taste. She’d be sure to argue, to harangue, to acclaim in a tone, that would become loud and harsh, that she could see no difference between a man’s smoking upstairs and down. And the pity of it was she couldn’t see the difference.

A month slipped by. Two months. Stephen wrote only the briefest notes to Stella and they were far between. Oh, how easy it was to drift out of the troubled waters! What a comfort and relief!

2

AT FIRST STEPHEN’S periods of absence were a comfort and relief to Stella, too. It was simply wonderful, she told Effie McDavitt, to go about unhampered, when, where, how, and with whom she pleased, and have a little harmless fun in her life, without being preached to for hours afterward. It didn’t seriously occur to Stella that Stephen’s absences portended anything permanent. When Effie suggested such a possibility, she “pooh-poohed” the idea.

“Oh, goodness, no,” she said. “It would just about kill Stephen if his domestic affairs got aired in the newspapers. I know Stephen. I never could even mention divorce, or separation, in our squabbles, even as a joke, without his sort of turning away, as if I’d said something indecent. No. We’ll stick—you’ll see.”

In early March, Stella wrote to Stephen and asked him when he expected to come home next. She’d like to know so as to be there. There was a good deal going on and Rosamond was planning a house-party at her country place, over some week-end soon.