It doesn't suit me.
Three years ago I offered you your freedom and you refused to take it; I
offer it you again now. You are older, you are perfectly fit to manage
your life and the children's without me. I must be free--free to look
after my health and to get away from everything!'
'You mean to leave us altogether then?' said Edith, feeling unspeakably
thankful.
'Exactly. That's just what I do mean.'
'But will you be happy--comfortable--alone in America?'
He walked across the room and came back.
'Edith, I'm sorry to pain you, but I shall not be alone.'
Edith started, thinking of Madame Frabelle's letter ... from Liverpool!
Evidently they were going away together.
'Of course I give up the Foreign Office and my salary there, but you
have some money of your own, Edith; it will be enough for you and the
children to live quietly. And perhaps I shall be able to afford to send
you part of my income that my father left me when I get something to do
over there,' he added rather lamely.
'You mean to get something to do?'
'Yes; when I'm strong enough. I'm very ill--very.'
There was a long pause, then Edith said kindly:
'Have you any fault to find with me, Bruce?'
'Edith, you are a perfect mother,' he said in a peculiar tone which
sounded to Edith like an echo of Madame Frabelle.
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