Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction
But if she were perplexed as to how she would bear herself on the
coming occasion he was much more so. It may be said of him, that
through his whole journey home from Dresden he was disturbed,
unhappy, and silent. And that when his sister left him in London,
and that he had nothing immediately before him but the journey down
to Exeter, he was almost overwhelmed by the difficulties of the
situation. His case as a man was so much worse than hers as a woman.
The speaking must all be done by him, and what was there that he
could say? There was still present to him a keen sense of the wrong
that he had endured; though he owned to himself that the punishment
which at the spur of the moment he had resolved upon inflicting was
too severe,--both upon her and upon himself. And though he felt
that he had been injured, he did gradually acknowledge that he had
believed something worse than the truth. How to read the riddle he
did not know, but there was a riddle which he had not read aright. If
Cecilia should still be silent, he must still be left in the dark.
But he did understand that he was to expect no confession of a fault,
and that he was to exact no show of repentance.
When the train arrived at Exeter he determined to be driven at once
to the Hotel. It made him unhappy to think that everyone around him
should be aware that he was occupying rooms at an inn while his wife
was living in the town; but he did not dare to take his portmanteau
to Mrs. Holt's house and hang up his hat in her hall as though
nothing had been the matter. "Put it into a cab," he said to a porter
as the door was opened, "and bid him drive to the Clarence."
But a man whose face he remembered had laid his hand upon his valise
before it was well out of the railway carriage. "Please, Sir," said
the man, "you are to go up to the house, and I'm to carry your
things. I am Sam Barnet, the gardener."
"Very well, Sam," said Mr. Western. "Go on and I'll follow you." Now,
as he well knew, the house at St. David's was less than half a mile
from the railway station.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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