“I love Thomas, not Philip,” she said to herself and cried.

  Philip, who could not stand to be alone with his thoughts, was leading his life unlike his father had done. He had become just as stubborn as the old man in the pursuit of exactly the opposite of the old man’s goals and it was clear to see that ruin followed by suicide lay in his future. A distant uncle, on his mother’s side, had put him up for election at a fashionable club, as soon as he arrived in London. He had been elected without delay. He was highly sought after as a name to add to the list of members. He bore one of the oldest names to be found among the English aristocracy and his wealth, gigantic as it was, had been inflated by the public’s imagination. He was received with open arms everywhere he went. Not being able to gain acclaim by means of education or taste, he sought to be known in his club as the “savage” from up North. He cultivated a rough demeanor and a cynical way of talking to his peers. He threw away his money by keeping race horses and was not unfamiliar with the betting tables. He frequented places of disrepute and was seen frequently in the company of women whose reputations were politely said, vague. His wife hardly ever saw him as at those times that he did come home, he came home at dawn. And when he came home he was either half intoxicated or in a foul mood after having lost large sums of money at the gambling tables. James, the trusted servant and guardian of the honor of the House of Swaffham, was deeply hurt by his master’s rapid decline into total ruin and the decadent and disreputable acquaintances with whom he surrounded himself.

  “Think of your name, Milord,” he would say. “What of the good name of the House of Swaffham?”

  “Leave me in peace,” Philip would answer. “Every time you talk to me, you force me to think and I don’t wish to think of anything, except peace of mind.”

  In the dark clouds that he surrounded himself with, there was one shining star, Jane Bletchley. He could not drink her away or gamble her away, because as soon as he had regained himself, there she was again, a ray of light, clear and distinct against the darkness that was his life. He had led a debauched life for six months, when one day, as he was driving down Oxford Street, he saw a lady give him a friendly nod. She was seated in a luxury open car, wrapped in the richest and most costly furs. Thinking that she was one of the actresses with whom he had become familiar, Philip parked his car and went towards her. As he got nearer he saw that it was Jane Bletchley, who was seated in the car. He slowed his pace, astonished at the sight, but he didn’t turn back. Jane was just as full emotions as he was and for a moment neither of them could talk. They looked at each other in silence, as if each had dark foreboding of the future, now that they had met again. The driver of Jane’s car began to glance curiously in the mirror. Philip knew that he had to say something.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Bletchley to see you here in London,” he said, hoarsely.

  Her slender hand appeared from a mass of furs in which she was dressed and she extended it to him for a kiss.

  “We live here now, so I hope that we will be as good friends as we were once before. Goodbye,” she said calmly, but with a tone of tenderness, which went straight to Philip’s heart.

  He did not kiss her hand, however and in a smooth movement Jane gave a sign with the same hand to the chauffeur and the big automobile rolled swiftly away. He stood frozen to the ground.

  “Ah!” he cried, as despair rushed from his heart to his face. “I love her. I love her. I love her. I could never care for another.” Here reason prevailed and as he looked around, he saw people glancing at him. He ran to his car and drove away to Hyde Park, where he found a secluded spot and lay down on his back and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Why do you insist on torturing me?”

  The fire was lit again. He refused to listen to the voice of reason. That evening he went to his club with the specific intention of asking some of his fellow club members a few questions regarding Bletchley House. He heard the information he was hoping for and the next day he met Countess Bletchley in Oxford Street at the same time and at the same location. For many days afterwards they would exchange a few words, until one day Jane, with studied hesitation, promised to meet him in Hyde Park, without her chauffeur or maid being around.

  Countess Bletchley had promised to meet him at three o’clock, but at two o’clock Philip was on the spot, full of expectation and doubt.

  “Again,” he said, touching his face with his hands, “I’m waiting for Jane.”

  But he wasn’t waiting for the same Jane he was waiting for in Bourne on Trent. Many things had changed since then. He was now waiting for Countess Bletchley, another man’s wife. And he had also undergone changes. He was a married man.

  “But why,” he said, overcome by madness, “do we have to adhere to rules, which contradict the wishes of the heart. Why can’t a woman leave her husband and a man his wife, if they would be both happier with someone else?”

  Philip looked at his watch once more as he had done a thousand times before.

  “She won’t come,” he sighed, “What’s the use of waiting?”

  As he uttered these words a cab stopped in front of the iron gate and Countess Bletchley stepped out quickly. She hurried towards him without taking notice of anyone or anything, trying to diminish the distance, which separated her from Philip as fast as she could. When she entered through the gate, she took his arm and together they walked as quickly as they could into one of the quiet pathways leading into one of the recesses of the park. There had been rain that morning and the pathway was wet and muddy, but Countess Bletchley didn’t seem to notice this.

  “Let us keep walking,” she said, “until no one can see us from the main pathway. I’ve left my car and chauffeur at the restaurant, while I left through a side entrance. I was careful.”

  “You never used to be afraid of anyone.”

  “Then if I lost my reputation, the loss affected me only. Since my wedding day I have a sacred duty bestowed on me, the honor of the man, who married me and gave me his name and I must guard that with my life.”

  “So you belong to him.”

  She stopped walking suddenly and looked at Philip with such coldness that it chilled his heart.

  “You were the one, who rejected me. Remember that night I sent you that letter promising to be yours, always, to run away with you?”

  Philip closed his eyes and seemed close to tears.

  “Have mercy on me!” he said. “You would have pity on me if you knew the burden of guilt I carry every waking moment. I was mad, blind, insane with guilt.”

  Jane’s beautiful mouth curled into a faint smile. Philip had told her something she had been waiting for months to hear from his own lips. She shook her head.

  “Too late!” she whispered. “That’s all I can say.”

  “Jane!”

  He tried to grasp her hand, but she moved it away quickly.

  “Don’t use that name,” she said. “You don’t have the right to do so. Was it not enough for you to make the life of a young woman an endless misery? And now you want to compromise the honor of the wife. I’m here to tell you only one thing. Forget me! The other day, when I saw you again, I was not myself. My heart sprang up at the sight of you and I was a fool for allowing you to see this. Don’t build your hopes on my weakness. I told you, we should be friends again as we once were, but that is madness. We can never be for one another what we were for each other, therefore we should be strangers. Did you forget the all seeing eyes and the lying tongues in Bourne on Trent, who accused me of being your mistress? Do you think that my husband hasn’t heard this lie? I remember one day like it was yesterday, when someone mentioned your name in his presence. I saw a furious hatred and jealousy burn in his eyes. My God, if he knew that your hand had touched mine today, he would throw me out of his house immediately. Where would I go then? Who would have me then? Please be a gentleman and if your heart still holds me dear, prove it by never setting eyes on me again.”

  As soon as she stopped talking, she hurried away, stepping around the mud and the water with the lean step of a mountain goat.

  “Why don’t you just ask me to kill myself?” he cried, his hands in his hair.

  Philip’s heart was filling up with a poison, which was deadlier than the one she had persuaded him to administer to his father. Each fiber of his heart longed for her. As before she had control over him and soon she would be able to make him do the thing he had done before, that kept him awake at night and made his life a nightmare. But that was all forgotten, because he had seen Jane and as long as Jane was here, there was the chance she would be his again.

  He followed Jane around like a puppy dog for several days. He didn’t at first dare to approach her, but three days after their last meeting he gathered all his courage and approached her in Oxford Street. She was furious at him and demanded in a high voice that he leave her alone. But he didn’t stay away for long. She wept the second time and her tears forced him to avoid her for several days. When he approached her for the third time, she at first refused to meet with him alone. When he asked again, she told him she had no time that week. When he asked one more time she granted him another conversation. And then another one followed. Then many more. But these meetings were worthless to him. They took place in shops, museums or art galleries, where he couldn’t tell her what was in his heart or touch her hands. He complained bitterly and at last she took pity on him and suggested that as she couldn’t risk losing her husband by meeting him in secret, she suggested that she would become friends with his wife, Renee and that would give them the excuse to be near to one another, without her husband suspecting her of any impropriety. Philip’s beaming face told her all she needed to know about his feelings for her and for Renee. He told her he would introduce her himself to his wife the next day.

  It was nine o’clock in the morning when young Lord Swaffham, instead of going to his club to breakfast, sat down at the table where his wife was silently eating her meal. He was in an excellent mood, friendly, and full of joyous talk. It was something his wife had never seen, since their unhappy marriage began. Renee didn’t understand why her husband had suddenly changed. It scared and alarmed her, because she knew that it must be a sign of something unpleasant coming their way.

  Philip waited until the servants had cleaned up the table and retired to the kitchen. As soon as he was alone with his wife he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Renee, it has been too long, since the last time I opened my heart to you entirely. I need to give you a full and open explanation.”

  “An explanation!” stammered Renee, opening her eyes wide.

  “Yes, but don’t be alarmed, dear. I’m afraid that I must have looked like the most careless and unpleasant of husbands. Allow me to explain myself. Since we moved here, I’ve minded my own business. I’ve left the house early and come home very late and sometimes three days went by without seeing each other.”

  The young woman listened to him like she couldn’t believe her ears. She did not recognize her husband in this man, who was blaming himself for their unhappiness.

  “I’m not complaining,” she mumbled.

  “I know that, Renee. You are a noble and forgiving woman, but I also know that it’s impossible that you have never felt aggrieved by my behavior.”

  “I have never talked ill of you.”

  “I don’t deserve the love of someone like you. I can’t give you either defense or excuse for my past conduct. I just want you to know that, even so, you’re always on my mind, even, when I’m away from you.”

  Philip was doing his best to put on an air of tenderness and affection, but the sudden change hardly fooled his wife. Though his words were friendly, the tone of his voice was calm and disinterested.

  “I have vows to keep,” she replied.

  “Please, Renee,” he interrupted, “don’t tell me vows are all that is between us. I know that you have been lonely, because the friends you kept as Miss Harcourt could hardly be the friends of Lady Swaffham.”

  “I have never opposed your demands.”

  “Also, being in mourning for the past six months has prevented us from going out to parties.”

  “I have not asked to go out,” she answered.

  “This is the reason that I have decided that you should feel more at home in our house. I would like you to have someone with you with whom you could talk and find some distraction. I don’t mean one of those foolish women, who only think of balls and dresses, but a sensible woman of the world, who is as old as you are and holds a similar position in society as you hold. In short, a woman you could be friends with.”

  His wife looked at him with a surprised expression on her face.

  “It’s quite perilous,” he continued, “because such a friend often makes a home either happier or more miserable. But I’ve found someone, who will suit you. I met her at the house of Mrs. Astor, who said eloquent things about her charms of mind and body. Will you allow me the pleasure of presenting her to you today?”

  “Here, at our house?”

  “Why not? There is nothing shameful in this. You should know that the young lady isn’t a stranger to us. She comes from our own part of the country. You know her.”

  His face became red. He quickly stood up and busied himself with the fire to hide it.

  “You remember Miss Worrall?”

  “Not Jane Worrall?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I saw very little of her. Her father and mine didn’t get on very well together. Lord Worrall looked down on us as not aristocratic enough.”

  “That was the past,” he said, curtly. “I trust that the daughter will make up for her father’s shortcomings. Anyway, she married not long after we did. Her husband is Count Bletchley. She will call on you today and I’ve told your maid to say that you’re at home.”

  The silence that followed lasted for nearly a minute.

  “Anyway, that’s what I wished to tell you,” he said poking in the fire with a stoker.

  The sound of wheels was heard on the gravel of the courtyard. A moment afterwards the butler came in and announced that Countess Bletchley was in the drawing room. Philip put down the fire poker, wiped his hands on a napkin and took his wife’s arm

  “Come, Renee,” he said, joyously. “She’s here.”

  Jane knew she had taken an extraordinarily bold step by paying a visit that was so contrary to all the rules of etiquette. She exposed herself to the chance of being shown a cold reception. The moments, which went by, while she waited in the drawing room, seemed to take centuries to pass away. The door opened and Philip and his young wife appeared in the room. Countess Bletchley stood up with a charming smile on her lips and bowed gracefully to Lady Swaffham. She apologized half-jokingly for her entree. She said she was unable to resist the pleasure of seeing a country neighbor in London, the more as they were living only a short distance from each other.

  “That’s the reason, I fear, I’m disregarding the proper rules of etiquette. So that I might have a cozy chat with you about Bourne on Trent and the countryside, where I’ve been born and which I so dearly love.”

  Renee listened in silence to her flood of words. The expression on her face betrayed how surprised she was at this most unexpected visit. Her silence would have hurt any less perfectly composed woman, but Jane Bletchley didn’t think that the slight annoyance she felt, was enough to stop her from continuing on her path. She turned on all the mettle of her talent and diplomacy.

  Philip kept himself out of the conversation as much as he could. He felt ashamed for the inglorious part that he was playing in the ploy. As soon as he thought that the official introduction between the two women had been completed and Renee called for tea, he slipped out of the room. He didn’t know whether to be pleased with the successful introduction of Jane in his domestic life or to loathe himself for his weakness.

  Jane had more difficulties in persuading the young woman of her good intentions than she had anticipated from Philip’s account. She had thought that she would have been received by Renee like an angel sent down to earth from heaven to deliver her from an unhappy situation. She had expected to find an unsophisticated woman, who would throw her arms around her visitor’s neck at first glance and give herself entirely unto her influence. The hesitation on the other woman’s part didn’t dismay Jane. She was rather pleased at this unexpected hurdle and like an actress on the stage, she fully exerted her powers of fascination to win her audience. When she took her leave, she was sure that she had made progress.

  That evening Renee told her husband, “I think I will like Countess Bletchley. She seems a nice kind of woman.”

  “Kind is just the correct word,” said Philip. “Bourne on Trent was in tears, when after she married, she had to leave, because she was considered a real angel by the poor.”

  Philip was very happy to hear that Jane’s appearance had been a success. He felt it was for him that she had done all she could to ingratiate herself and had not given up. It was proof that she still had feelings for him.

  “Thing’s are going well,” he thought to himself.

  The next day, when he met Countess Bletchley again in Oxford Street, he was not as pleased with himself. She looked sad and thoughtful.

  “What’s ailing you?” he asked.

  “I’m angry at myself for having listened to your pleas and the voice of my heart,” she replied. “I think we made a big mistake in proceeding with this idea.”