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30 Dead Men's Shoesgratifying, since the word came on top ofhis happy stroke of business. But whenhe read the note, his face fell.Instead of asking forgiveness, or proposingan armistice, or doing any of thepossible things she might have done, hiswife said that she was going away. Thenote was brief, but it contained a varietyof information: she was taking his adviceand going South with the children and anurse; she was leaving directions that allhousehold bills and the like be turnedover to him for payment; she had madeno plans about coming back; she hopedhe would be happy in his independence;she was taking the train at 3.35 and givingthe servants the impression that he wasto meet her at the station. It was all verybusinesslike and by no means unfriendlyin tone. Except for the dig about thebills, it was altogether considerate ofhis feelings, while the arrangements bywhich a meeting was evaded saved bothof them from immediate gossip.David Lloyd crumpled the note andthrust it, unconsidered, into a pocket.He looked at his watch. It was exactly3.40. The message had been nicelytimed to prevent action. There wasnothing he could do—nothing whatever.Since Edith had chosen to make a foolof herself and of him, and had workedout her plan so carefully, he was powerless.He could follow her, of course; buthe couldn't in decency bring her back fora few weeks to come—not until her absenceexplained itself plausibly as asudden flight from midwinter snows.Moreover, he couldn't be sure that shewould come back to him at once or atall. The note sounded as if she meantnot to come back. She was sufficientlyindependent of him; much too independentto follow his commands or yield tohis entreaties if she was really determinedon a break.The blow was incredible in its swiftness.Lloyd rose unsteadily, with a vague sensethat he must act. Then he sank downinto his chair. He could do nothingwhatever, now or later, except stay on inEdith's house and manage Edith's business,until she chose to divorce him onsome trumped-up excuse or other—desertion,probably! That must be whatshe contemplated. Indeed, she musthave been preparing to make the movefor some time. That conclusion forceditself upon him. She couldn't possiblyhave gone away on account of anything sotrivial as their dispute of the previousevening. Such desperate matters asflight, with divorce as its goal, weren'tdecided upon in a moment. She wouldnever have gone simply and solely becausehe had once lost his temper whiledowncast about his position. She musthave been awaiting the occasion that hisoutbreak gave her.One thing was certain; one thing hecould do. He would fight for the custodyof the children if it came to a fight in thecourts. Edith needn't think she coulddeceive him, and desert him, and still keepher children. At least, she couldn't haveAgatha. Jack—of course Jack she couldhave, hang it! He wished the boy hadbeen his—he wished—oh God!For a few minutes his head whirled ina tumult of longing and jealousy andanger that was too incoherent to be recorded.He went down into bottomlessabysses of rage and brought up with himunspeakable suspicions and primevalcurses. He dropped his cultivated inhibitionsand lost consciousness of himself asanything more than a seething caldronof emotion. He slipped back into savageryand experienced, for a little time, theugly feelings of countless dead generations.After a quarter-hour he came to himself,spent and rather horrified. Wonderinglyhe resumed his self-command, forhe was not sure what had happened tohim and had no wish to know. Withwhite face and tight lips, he turned to theroutine work that was still to be accomplishedbefore evening, and despatched itwithout permitting his thoughts to wander.The hardest moment came when hereached home. The smiling maid wholet him in asked if Mrs. Lloyd had gotsafely off, and had to be told that she had.That twisted the knife in his wound.The situation seemed intolerable, an absurdfantasy of unreason. Was Edithreally gone ? Why had she gone ? Therewas no sense in any of it, though it wasactuality. Of that he became profoundlyaware from the feeling of quiet emptiness