Part 53 (1/2)
”But you have not yet opened a banking-account in your own name.”
”I suppose you have a meaning, Mr. Redmain; but I am not in the habit of using cabs.”
”Then you had better get into the habit; for I swear to you, madam, if you don't fetch that girl home within the week, I will, next Monday, discharge your coachman, and send every horse in the stable to Tattersall's! Good morning.”
She had no doubt he would do as he said; she knew Mr. Redmain would just enjoy selling her horses. But she could not at once give in. I say ”_could_ not,” because hers was the weak will that can hardly bring itself to do what it knows it must, and is continually mistaken for the strong will that defies and endures. She had a week to think about it, and she would see!
During the interval, he took care not once to refer to his threat, for that would but weaken the impression of it, he knew.
On the Sunday, after service, she knocked at his door, and, being admitted, bade him good morning, but with no very gracious air--as, indeed, he would have been the last to expect.
”We have had a sermon on the forgiveness of injuries, Mr. Redmain,” she said.
”By Jove!” interrupted her husband, ”it would have been more to the purpose if I, or poor Mary Marston, had had it; for I swear you put our souls in peril!”
”The ring was no common one, Mr. Redmain; and the young woman had, by leaving the house, placed herself in a false position: every one suspected her as much as I did. Besides, she lost her temper, and talked about forgiving _me_, when I was in despair about my ring!”
”And what, pray, was your foolish ring compared to the girl's character?”
”A foolish ring, indeed!--Yes, it was foolish to let you ever have the right to give it me! But, as to her character, that of persons in her position is in constant peril. They have to lay their account with that, and must get used to it. How was I to know? We can not read each other's hearts.”
”Not where there is no heart in the reader.”
Hesper's face flushed, but she did her best not to lose her temper. Not that it would have been any great loss if she had, for there is as much difference in the values of tempers as in those who lose them. She said nothing, and her husband resumed:
”So you came to forgive me?” he said.
”And Marston,” she answered.
”Well, I will accept the condescension--that is, if the terms of it are to my mind.”
”I will make no terms. Marston may return when she pleases.”
”You must write and ask her.”
”Of course, Mr. Redmain. It would hardly be suitable that _you_ should ask her.”
”You must write so as to make it possible to accept your offer.”
”I am not deceitful, Mr. Redmain.”
”You are not. A man must be fair, even to his wife.”
”I will show you the letter I write.”
”If you please.”
She had to show him half a score ere he was satisfied, declaring he would do it himself, if she could not make a better job of it.
At length one was dispatched, received, and answered: Mary would not return. She had lost all hope of being of any true service to Mrs.
Redmain, and she knew that, with Tom and Letty, she was really of use for the present. Mrs. Redmain carried the letter, with ill-concealed triumph, to her husband; nor did he conceal his annoyance.