“I cannot take my nieces into my house as lodgers,” said Mr. Outhouse.
“No, not as lodgers; but of course you can understand that it is for me to pay for my own wife. I know I owe you an apology for mentioning it;—but how else could I make my request to you?”
“If Emily and Nora come here they must come as our guests,” said Mrs. Outhouse.
“Certainly,” said the clergyman. “And if I am told they are in want of a home they shall find one here till their father comes. But I am bound to say that as regards the elder I think her home should be elsewhere.”
“Of course it should,” said Mrs. Outhouse. “I don’t know anything about the law, but it seems to me very odd that a young woman should be turned out in this way. You say she has done nothing?”
“I will not argue the matter,” said Trevelyan.
“That’s all very well, Mr. Trevelyan,” said the lady, “but she’s my own niece, and if I don’t stand up for her I don’t know who will. I never heard such a thing in my life as a wife being sent away after such a fashion as that. We wouldn’t treat a cookmaid so; that we wouldn’t. As for coming here, she shall come if she pleases, but I shall always say that it’s the greatest shame I ever heard of.”
Nothing came of this visit at last. The lady grew in her anger; and Mr. Trevelyan, in his own defence, was driven to declare that his wife’s obstinate intimacy with Colonel Osborne had almost driven him out of his senses. Before he left the parsonage he was brought even to tears by his own narration of his own misery;—whereby Mr. Outhouse was considerably softened, although Mrs. Outhouse became more and more stout in the defence of her own sex. But nothing at last came of it. Trevelyan insisted on paying for his wife, wherever she might be placed; and when he found that this would not be permitted to him at the parsonage, he was very anxious to take some small furnished house in the neighbourhood, in which the two sisters might live for the next six months under the wings of their uncle and aunt. But even Mr. Outhouse was moved to pleasantry by this suggestion, as he explained the nature of the tenements which were common at St. Diddulph’s. Two rooms, front and back, they might have for about five-and-sixpence a week in a house with three other families. “But perhaps that is not exactly what you’d like,” said Mr. Outhouse. The interview ended with no result, and Mr. Trevelyan took his leave, declaring to himself that he was worse off than the foxes, who have holes in which to lay their heads;—but it must be presumed that his sufferings in this respect were to be by attorney; as it was for his wife, and not for himself, that the necessary hole was now required.
As soon as he was gone Mrs. Outhouse answered Nora’s letter, and without meaning to be explicit, explained pretty closely what had taken place. The spare bedroom at the parsonage was ready to receive either one or both of the sisters till Sir Marmaduke should be in London, if one or both of them should choose to come. And though there was no nursery at the parsonage—for Mr. and Mrs. Outhouse had been blessed with no children—still room should be made for the little boy. But they must come as visitors—“as our own nieces,” said Mrs. Outhouse. And she went on to say that she would have nothing to do with the quarrel between Mr. Trevelyan and his wife. All such quarrels were very bad—but as to this quarrel she could take no part either one side or the other. Then she stated that Mr. Trevelyan had been at the parsonage, but that no arrangement had been made, because Mr. Trevelyan had insisted on paying for their board and lodging.
This letter reached Nuncombe Putney before any reply was received by Mrs. Trevelyan from her husband. This was on the Saturday morning, and Mrs. Trevelyan had pledged herself to Mrs. Stanbury that she would leave the Clock House on the Monday. Of course, there was no need that she should do so. Both Mrs. Stanbury and Priscilla would now have willingly consented to their remaining till Sir Marmaduke should be in England. But Mrs. Trevelyan’s high spirit revolted against this after all that had been said. She thought that she should hear from her husband on the morrow, but the post on Sunday brought no letter from Trevelyan. On the Saturday they had finished packing up—so certain was Mrs. Trevelyan that some instructions as to her future destiny would be sent to her by her lord.
At last they decided on the Sunday that they would both go at once to St. Diddulph’s; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that this was the decision of the elder sister. Nora would willingly have yielded to Priscilla’s entreaties, and have remained. But Emily declared that she could not, and would not, stay in the house. She had a few pounds—what would suffice for her journey; and as Mr. Trevelyan had not thought proper to send his orders to her, she would go without them. Mrs. Outhouse was her aunt, and her nearest relative in England. Upon whom else could she lean in this time of her great affliction? A letter, therefore, was written to Mrs. Outhouse, saying that the whole party, including the boy and nurse, would be at St. Diddulph’s on the Monday evening, and the last cord was put to the boxes.
“I suppose that he is very angry,” Mrs. Trevelyan said to her sister, “but I do not feel that I care about that now. He shall have nothing to complain of in reference to any gaiety on my part. I will see no one. I
