THE BETTER SORT
"No"—she pulled herself up—"it is. I don't charge you. Only I feel how little—about what has been, all the while, behind—you tell me. Nothing explains."
"Explains what?"
"Why, his act."
He gave a sign of impatience. "Isn't the explanation what I offered a moment ago to give you?"
It came, in effect, back to her. "For use?"
"For use."
"Only?"
"Only." It was sharp.
They stood a little, on this, face to face; at the end of which she turned away. "I'll go to Mrs. Chorner." And she was off while he called after her to take a cab. It was quite as if she were to come upon him, in his strange insistence, for the fare.
IX
If she kept to herself, from the morrow on, for three days, her adoption of that course was helped, as she thankfully felt, by the great other circumstance and the great public commotion under cover of which it so little mattered what became of private persons. It was not simply that she had her reasons, but she couldn't during this time have descended again to Fleet Street even had she wished, though she said to herself often enough that her behaviour was rank cowardice. She left her friend alone with what he had to face, since, as she found, she could in absence from him a little recover herself. In his presence, the night of the news, she knew she had gone to pieces, had yielded, all too vulgarly, to a weakness proscribed by her original view. Her original view had been that if poor Beadel, worked up, as she inveterately kept seeing him, should embrace the tragic remedy, How-
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