It was now nearly six o’clock. She had promised Maddison to go round early to the studio. She wished now that she had been free to accept Mrs. Harding’s invitation, and made up her mind to do so some night soon, if it could be safely arranged.
The housekeeper opened the door to her, and told her that a gentleman was waiting in the studio to see Mr. Maddison. Marian nodded and went in, expecting to find Mortimer or one of the other men who had been summoned. The big room was dimly lit. She shut the door behind her and went toward the fireplace, in a chair by which a man was sitting with his back toward her.
He rose at the sound of her approach. It was her husband.
She stood stock-still as he came quickly toward her, with his hands outstretched.
But the eager joy in his eyes was met by anger in hers.
“How dare you come here?” she asked. “Keep away from me. Don’t touch me!”
“How did you know I was here?” she went on.
“I didn’t know. I’ve searched and searched for you, walked the streets in the hope of catching a glimpse of you. Then Ellis told me he had seen you with Mr. Maddison, so I came straight here, thinking he would perhaps know your address. But I can hardly speak—I’m so glad.”
“You’d better go back and sit down again. I’ve something to say to you. You—don’t understand.”
The tone of her voice chilled him as if an icy finger had been laid upon his heart, but he did not move.
She went past him over to the fireplace, and stood there looking at the glowing logs. So he knew really nothing! Should she tell him everything? She quickly decided not to do so unless driven to it. Turning round sharply to him, she said:
“You don’t understand. I left you because I didn’t want to see you again. Coming after me like this won’t make any difference, won’t do a bit of good. I’ve left you and I won’t come back. You’d better forget me as quickly as you can.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” he repeated. “I _can’t_. And why should I? I want you to forgive me. I did try to be good to you, but I must have failed miserably to have driven you away from me. I’ve been thinking over what you said about my being selfish. Come back. Try me once more. Won’t you?”
“No. I won’t. I can’t. You don’t understand. I _hate_ you. I hate everything you think and do. We’re utterly different.”