Madame Danterre had gone back to Florence, fat with blackmail, and then
had begun a steady course of persecution.
Step by step he had sunk lower down, knowing that he was weakening his
own case most miserably if it should ever become public. Nothing
satisfied her, although she received two thousand a year regularly,
until the will was drawn up, which left everything to her except an
allowance of L800 a year to Rose.
Once a year for three years Madame Danterre had visited London, and had
generally contrived that Sir David should be conscious of the look in
her astonishing eyes, which Sir Edmund had likened to extinct volcanoes,
at some theatre, or in the park, once at least every season. Evidently
that look had never failed. It touched the exposed nerve in his
mind--exposed ever since the time of illness and strain when he was
young and helpless in India. It was evident that he had felt that any
agony was bearable to shield Rose from the suffering of a public
scandal. If he could only have brought himself to consult one of the
Murrays something might have been done. As it was, he had recourse to
subterfuge. He assured Madame Danterre annually, in answer to her
insisting on the point, that no other will had ever been signed by him,
but he always carried a will with him ready to be signed. There was much
of self-pity perhaps in the letter, there was the plaint of a wrecked
life, but there was still more of real delicate feeling for Rose, of
intense anxiety to shield her, of poignant regret for "what might have
been" in their home life. The man had been of a wholesome nature; his
great physical courage was part of a good fellow's construction. But he
had been taught to worship a good name, an unsullied reputation, and to
love things of good repute too much, perhaps, for the sake of their
repute, as he could not venture to risk the shadow for the reality. The
effect of reading Sir David's last letter to Rose on an unbiassed reader
of a humane turn of mind would have been an intensity of pity, and a
sigh at the sadness of life on this planet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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