He did not move. He seemed to be thinking hard. She paused for a
moment. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips.
"Good-bye, John," she said simply.
Something in her tone made him look up. In a second the glass lay
shattered upon the carpet. There was a stain of wine upon her dress.
"God in Heaven, Annabel!" he cried. "What were you doing?"
Her voice was a little hysterical. Her unnatural calm was giving way.
"It was poison--why not?" she answered. "Who is there to care
and--John."
His arms were around her. He kissed her once on the lips with a
passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given
no sign.
"You poor little girl!" he cried. "Forgive you, indeed. There isn't a
husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn't have blessed that pistol in
your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. It is no
crime, none at all. It is one of God's laws that a woman may defend
her honour, even with the shedding of blood. While you talked I was
only making our plans. It was necessary to think, and think quickly."
She was altogether hysterical now.
"But I--I went to Nigel Ennison for help. I asked him--to take me
away."
She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone.
"Perhaps," he said, "I have been to blame. It must be my fault that
you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to--at such a
time as this. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. You were afraid of
me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal.
Bah. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. Pull yourself
together now. Drink this!"
He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her
lips. She drank it obediently.
"Good," he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks.
"Now listen. You go to your room and ring for your maid. I received a
telegram, as you know, during dinner. It contains news of the serious
illness of a near relation at Paris. Your maid has twenty minutes to
pack your dressing case for one night, and you have the same time to
change into a travelling dress. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall,
remember. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station."
"But you," she exclaimed, "you are not coming. There is the
election----"
He laughed derisively.
"Election be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don't be childish, Annabel. We
are off for a second honeymoon. Just one thing more. We may be
stopped. Don't look so frightened. You called yourself a murderess.
You are nothing of the sort. What you did is called manslaughter, and
at the worst there is only a very slight penalty, nothing to be
frightened about in the least. Remember that."