“Yes, my lady. His lordship has just come in.”
Lady Holme sat down on the sofa at the foot of the bed. She was trembling violently. She sat looking on the ground and trying to control her limbs. A sort of dreadful humbleness surged through her, as if she were a guilty creature about to cringe before a judge. She trembled till the sofa on which she was sitting shook. She caught hold of the cushions and made a strong effort to sit still. The handle of the door turned.
But the door opened and her husband appeared on the threshold. As he did so she turned swiftly so that only part of the left side of her face was towards him.
He was coming forward when she called out again “Stay there, Fritz!”
He shut the door. She was still looking away from him.
“Do you understand?” she said, still in a sharp voice.
“That I’m altered, that the accident’s altered me--very much?”
“I know. The doctor said something. But you look all right.”
“Of course I do, old girl. Why, you know--”
Suddenly she turned round, stood up and faced him desperately.
There was a dead silence. It seemed to last for a long while. At length it was broken by a woman’s voice crying:
“Fritz,--Fritz--it isn’t my fault! It isn’t my fault!”
“It isn’t my fault, Fritz! It isn’t my fault!”
“Good God! but--the doctor didn’t--Oh--wait a minute--”
A door opened and shut. He was gone. Lady Holme fell down on the sofa. She was alone, but she kept on sobbing:
“It isn’t my fault, Fritz! It isn’t my fault, Fritz!”
And while she sobbed the words she knew that her life with Fritz Holme had come to an end. The chapter was closed.
From that day she had only one desire--to hide herself. The season was over. London was empty. She could travel. She resolved to disappear. Fritz had stayed on in the house, but she would not see him again, and he did not press her to. She knew why. He dreaded to look at her. She would see no one. At first there had been streams of callers, but now almost everybody had left town. Only Sir Donald came to the door each day and inquired after her health. One afternoon a note was brought to her. It was from Fritz, saying that he had been “feeling a bit chippy,” and the doctor advised him to run over to Homburg. But he wished to know what she meant to do. Would she go down to her father?--her mother, Lady St. Loo, was dead, and her father was an old man--or what? Would she come to Homburg too?