'I don't object. I've told you I think you get no good there. But go
if you like.'
She said after a silence:
'I have no other friend in London; and if it were only on account of
her kindness to me, I owe her a visit.'
'All right, don't talk about it any more; I'm thinking of
something.'
The evening wore on. At ten o'clock the servant brought up a jug of
beer, which she fetched for Mutimer every night; he said he could
not sleep without this sedative. It was always the sign for Adela to
go to bed.
She visited Stella in the morning, and found her still suffering.
They talked for an hour, then it was time for Adela to hasten
homewards, in order to have dinner ready by half-past one. From
Stella she had no secret, save the one which she did her best to
make a secret even to herself; she spoke freely of her mode of life,
though without comment. Stella made no comments in her replies.
'And you cannot have lunch with me?' she asked when her friend rose.
'I cannot; dear.'
'May I write to you?' Stella said with a meaning look.
'Yes, to tell me how you are.'
Adela had not got far from the house when she saw her husband
walking towards her. She looked at him steadily.
'I happened to be near,' he explained, 'and thought I might as well
go home with you.
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