The Moon and Sixpence. W. Somerset Maugham

petition, my dear Amy,' I said. 'You owe it to yourself and you owe it to the children.' He'd better not let me catch sight of him. I'd thrash him within an inch of his life."

      I could not help thinking that Colonel MacAndrew might have some difficulty in doing this, since Strickland had struck me as a hefty fellow, but I did not say anything. It is always distressing when outraged morality does not possess the strength of arm to administer direct chastisement on the sinner. I was making up my mind to another attempt at going when Mrs. Strickland came back. She had dried her eyes and powdered her nose.

      "I'm sorry I broke down," she said. "I'm glad you didn't go away."

      She sat down. I did not at all know what to say. I felt a certain shyness at referring to matters which were no concern of mine. I did not then know the besetting sin of woman, the passion to discuss her private affairs with anyone who is willing to listen. Mrs. Strickland seemed to make an effort over herself.

      "Are people talking about it?" she asked.

      I was taken aback by her assumption that I knew all about her domestic misfortune.

      "I've only just come back. The only person I've seen is Rose Waterford."

      Mrs. Strickland clasped her hands.

      "Tell me exactly what she said." And when I hesitated, she insisted. "I particularly want to know."

      "You know the way people talk. She's not very reliable, is she? She said your husband had left you."

      "Is that all?"

      I did not choose to repeat Rose Waterford's parting reference to a girl from a tea-shop. I lied.

      "She didn't say anything about his going with anyone?"

      "No."

      "That's all I wanted to know."

      I was a little puzzled, but at all events I understood that I might now take my leave. When I shook hands with Mrs. Strickland I told her that if I could be of any use to her I should be very glad. She smiled wanly.

      "Thank you so much. I don't know that anybody can do anything for me."

      Too shy to express my sympathy, I turned to say good-bye to the Colonel. He did not take my hand.

      "I'm just coming. If you're walking up Victoria Street, I'll come along with you."

      "All right," I said. "Come on."