Of all this Betty only knew the outward signs which, taken at their exterior significance, were detestable enough, and drove her hard as she mentally dwelt on them in connection with other things.  How easy, if she stood alone, to defy his evil insolence to do its worst, and leaving the place at an hour’s notice, to sail away to protection, or, if she chose to remain in England, to surround herself with a bodyguard of the people in whose eyes his disrepute relegated a man such as Nigel Anstruthers to powerless nonentity.  Alone, she could have smiled and turned her back upon him.  But she was here to take care of Rosy.  She occupied a position something like that of a woman who remains with a man and endures outrage because she cannot leave her child.  That thought, in itself, brought Ughtred to her mind.  There was Ughtred to be considered as well as his mother.  Ughtred’s love for and faith in her were deep and passionate things.  He fed on her tenderness for him, and had grown stronger because he spent hours of each day talking, reading, and driving with her.  The simple truth was that neither she nor Rosalie could desert Ughtred, and so long as Nigel managed cleverly enough, the law would give the boy to his father.

“You are obliged to prove things, you know, in a court of law,” he had said, as if with casual amiability, on a certain occasion.  “Proving things is the devil.  People lose their tempers and rush into rows which end in lawsuits, and then find they can prove nothing.  If I were a villain,” slightly showing his teeth in an agreeable smile—­“instead of a man of blameless life, I should go in only for that branch of my profession which could be exercised without leaving stupid evidence behind.”

Since his return to Stornham the outward decorum of his own conduct had entertained him and he had kept it up with an increasing appreciation of its usefulness in the present situation.  Whatsoever happened in the end, it was the part of discretion to present to the rural world about him an appearance of upright behaviour.  He had even found it amusing to go to church and also to occasionally make amiable calls at the vicarage.  It was not difficult, at such times, to refer delicately to his regret that domestic discomfort had led him into the error of remaining much away from Stornham.  He knew that he had been even rather touching in his expression of interest in the future of his son, and the necessity of the boy’s being protected from uncontrolled hysteric influences.  And, in the years of Rosalie’s unprotected wretchedness, he had taken excellent care that no “stupid evidence” should be exposed to view.