I think the theater was palling on her.

But I see now that she still cherished the dream of winning the man she loved--not me, her husband, but that handsome dilettante, Grant.

I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her one-time lover and a charming village girl.

Imagine the effect of this discovery on one of the artistic temperament.

'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,' and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an emotional frenzy.