Forgive him! Yes. Forgive him with the fullest, frankest, freest pardon, if he would only take forgiveness. Should she burn that letter in the fire, send to Biggs saying that the lodgings were not wanted, and then throw herself at Tom’s feet, imploring him to have mercy upon her? All that she could do within her heart, and make her words as passionate, as soft, and as poetical as might be those of a young wife of twenty. But she felt that such words—though she could frame the sentence while sitting there—could never get themselves spoken. She had tried it, and it had been of no avail. Not only should she be prepared for softness, but he also must be so prepared and at the same moment. If he should push her from him and call her a fool when she attempted that throwing of herself at his feet, how would it be with her spirit then? No. She must go forth and the letter must be left. If there were any hope of union for the future it must come from a parting for the present. So she went upstairs and summoned Rachel, remaining with her in consultation for some half-hour. Then she descended with her bonnet and shawl, got into a cab while Spooner stood at the door looking very serious, and was driven away—whither, no one knew in Harley Street except Mrs. Furnival herself, and that cabman.
“She’ll never put her foot inside this hall door again. That’s my idea of the matter,” said Spooner.
“Indeed and she will,” said Rachel, “and be a happier woman than ever she’s been since the house was took.”
“If I know master,” said Spooner, “he’s not the man to get rid of an old woman, easy like that, and then ’ave her back agin.” Upon hearing which words, so very injurious to the sex in general, Rachel walked into the house not deigning any further reply.
And then, as we have seen, Mrs. Furnival was there, standing in the dark shadow of the Lincoln’s Inn passage, when Lady Mason left the lawyer’s chambers. She felt sure that it was Lady Mason, but she could not be quite sure. The woman, though she came out from the entry which led to her husband’s chambers, might have come down from some other set of rooms. Had she been quite certain she would have attacked her rival there, laying bodily hands upon her in the purlieus of the Lord Chancellor’s Court. As it was, the poor bruised creature was allowed to pass by, and as she emerged out into the light at the other end of the passage Mrs. Furnival became quite certain of her identity.
“Never mind,” she said to herself. “She shan’t escape me long. Him I could forgive, if he would only give it up; but as for her—! Let what come of it, come may, I will tell that woman what I think of her conduct before I am many hours older.” Then, giving one look up to the windows of her husband’s chambers, she walked forth through the dusty old gate into Chancery Lane, and made her way on foot up to No. 23 Red Lion Square. “I’m glad I’ve done it,” she said to herself as she went; “very glad. There’s nothing else for it, when things come to such a head as that.” And in this frame of mind she knocked at her friend’s door.
“Well!” said Martha Biggs, with her eyes, and mouth, and arms, and heart all open.
“Have you got me the lodgings?” said Mrs. Furnival.
“Yes, close by;—in Orange Street. I’m afraid you’ll find them very dull. And what have you done?”
“I have done nothing, and I don’t at all mind their being dull. They can’t possibly be more dull than Harley Street.”
“And I shall be near you; shan’t I?” said Martha Biggs.
“Umph,” said Mrs. Furnival. “I might as well go there at once and get myself settled.” So she did, the affectionate Martha of course accompanying her; and thus the affairs of that day were over.
Her intention was to go down to Hamworth at once, and make her way up to Orley Farm, at which place she believed that Lady Mason was living. Up to this time she had heard no word of the coming trial beyond what Mr. Furnival had told her as to his client’s “law business.” And whatever he had so told her, she had scrupulously disbelieved. In her mind all that went for nothing. Law business! she was not so blind, so soft, so green, as to be hoodwinked by such stuff as that. Beautiful widows don’t have personal interviews with barristers in their chambers over and over again, let them have what law business they may. At any rate Mrs. Furnival took upon herself to say that they ought not to have such interviews. She would go down to Orley Farm and she would have an interview with Lady Mason. Perhaps the thing might be stopped in that way.
On the following morning she received a note from her husband the consideration of which delayed her proceedings for that day.
Dear Kitty,
the note ran.
I think you are very foolish. If regard for me had not kept you at home, some consideration with reference to Sophia should have done so. What you say about that poor lady at Orley Farm is too absurd for me to answer. If you would have spoken to me about her, I would have told you that which would have set your mind at rest, at any rate as regards her. I cannot do this in a letter, nor could I do it in the presence of your friend, Miss Biggs.
I hope you will
