On the day following, Nora again became a messenger between the husband and wife, and before dinnertime a reconciliation had been effected. Of course the wife gave way at last; and of course she gave way so cunningly that the husband received none of the gratification which he had expected in her surrender. “Tell him to come,” Nora had urged. “Of course he can come if he pleases,” Emily had replied. Then Nora had told Louis to come, and Louis had demanded whether, if he did so, the promise which he had exacted would be given. It is to be feared that Nora perverted the truth a little; but if ever such perversion may be forgiven, forgiveness was due to her. If they could only be brought together, she was sure that there would be a reconciliation. They were brought together, and there was a reconciliation.
“Dearest Emily, I am so glad to come to you,” said the husband, walking up to his wife in their bedroom, and taking her in his arms.
“I have been very unhappy, Louis, for the last two days,” said she, very gravely—returning his kiss, but returning it somewhat coldly.
“We have both been unhappy, I am sure,” said he. Then he paused that the promise might be made to him. He had certainly understood that it was to be made without reserve—as an act on her part which she had fully consented to perform. But she stood silent, with one hand on the dressing-table, looking away from him, very beautiful, and dignified too, in her manner; but not, as far as he could judge, either repentant or submissive. “Nora said that you would make me the promise which I ask from you.”
“I cannot think, Louis, how you can want such a promise from me.”
“I think it right to ask it; I do indeed.”
“Can you imagine that I shall ever willingly see this gentleman again after what has occurred? It will be for you to tell the servant. I do not know how I can do that. But, as a matter of course, I will encourage no person to come to your house of whom you disapprove. It would be exactly the same of any man or of any woman.”
“That is all that I ask.”
“I am surprised that you should have thought it necessary to make any formal request in the matter. Your word was quite sufficient. That you should find cause of complaint in Colonel Osborne’s coming here is of course a different thing.”
“Quite a different thing,” said he.
“I cannot pretend to understand either your motives or your fears. I do not understand them. My own self-respect prevents me from supposing it to be possible that you have attributed an evil thought to me.”
“Indeed, indeed, I never have,” said the husband.
“That I can assure you I regard as a matter of course,” said the wife.
“But you know, Emily, the way in which the world talks.”
“The world! And do you regard the world, Louis?”
“Lady Milborough, I believe, spoke to yourself.”
“Lady Milborough! No, she did not speak to me. She began to do so, but I was careful to silence her at once. From you, Louis, I am bound to hear whatever you may choose to say to me; but I will not hear from any other lips a single word that may be injurious to your honour.” This she said very quietly, with much dignity, and he felt that he had better not answer her. She had given him the promise which he had demanded, and he began to fear that if he pushed the matter further she might go back even from that amount of submission. So he kissed her again, and had the boy brought into the room, and by the time that he went to dress for dinner he was able, at any rate, to seem to be well pleased.
“Richard,” he said to the servant, as soon as he was downstairs, “when Colonel Osborne calls again, say that your mistress is—not at home.” He gave the order in the most indifferent tone of voice which he could assume; but as he gave it he felt thoroughly ashamed of it. Richard, who, with the other servants, had of course known that there had been a quarrel between his master and mistress for the last two days, no doubt understood all about it.
While they were sitting at dinner on the next day, a Saturday, there came another note from Colonel Osborne. The servant brought it to his mistress, and she, when she had looked at it, put it down by her plate. Trevelyan knew immediately from whom the letter had come, and understood how impossible it was for his wife to give it up in the servant’s presence. The letter lay there till the man was out of the room, and then she handed it to Nora. “Will you give that to Louis?” she said. “It comes from the man whom he supposes to be my lover.”
“Emily!” said he, jumping from his seat, “how can you allow words so horrible and so untrue to fall from your mouth?”
“If it be not so, why am I to be placed in such a position as this? The servant knows, of course, from whom the letter comes, and sees that I have been forbidden to open it.” Then the man returned to the room, and the remainder of the dinner passed off almost in silence. It was their custom when they dined without company to leave the dining-room together, but on this evening Trevelyan remained for a few minutes that he might read Colonel Osborne’s letter. He waited, standing on the rug with his face to the fireplace, till he was quite alone, and then he opened it. It ran as follows:—
House of Commons, Saturday.
Dear Emily—
Trevelyan, as he read this, cursed Colonel Osborne between his teeth.
Dear Emily,
I called this afternoon, but you were out. I
