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'The office,' Macmaster said, 'not at all. It is supposed that Sylvia is nursing Mrs Satterthwaite abroad. As for me, I wish...'--he closed his small, strong teeth--'I wish you would drag the woman through the mud. By God I do! Why should she mangle you for the rest of your life? She's done enough!'

Tietjens gazed out over the flap of the cab.

That explained a question. Some days before, a young man, a friend of his wife's rather than of his own, had approached him in the club and had said that he hoped Mrs Satterthwaite--his wife's mother--was better. He said now:

'I see. Mrs Satterthwaite has probably gone abroad to cover up Sylvia's retreat. She's a sensible woman, if a bitch.'

The hansom ran through nearly empty streets, it being very early for the public official quarters. The hoofs of the horse clattered precipitately. Tietjens preferred a hansom, horses being made for gentlefolk. He had known nothing of how his fellows had viewed his affairs. It was breaking up a great, numb inertia to enquire.