not so much for Madam’s sake as for that of her brother, whose
extraordinary will appeared to her simple understanding so great a shame
and scandal that she kept it secret for Reginald’s sake. Indeed, all she
did in the matter was for Reginald’s sake. She did not entertain the
confidence in Madam with which Rosalind and John enshrined the fugitive.
To Rosalind, Mrs. Lennox said little on the subject, with a respect for
the girl’s innocence which persons of superior age and experience are
not always restrained by; but that John, a man who knew the world,
should go on as he did, was a thing which exasperated his sister. How he
could persuade himself of Mrs. Trevanion’s innocence was a thing she
could not explain. Why, what could it be? she asked herself, angrily.
Everybody knows that the wisest of men or women are capable of going
wrong for one cause; but what other could account for the flight of a
woman, of a mother from her children, the entire disappearance of her
out of all the scenes of her former life? When her brother told her that
there was no help for it, that in the interests of her children Madam
was compelled to go away, Aunt Sophy said “Stuff!” What was a woman
good for if she could not find some means of eluding such a monstrous
stipulation? “Do you think I would have minded him? I should have
disguised myself, hidden about, done anything rather than desert my
family,” she cried; and when it was suggested to her that Madam was too
honorable, too proud, too high-minded to deceive, Sophy said nothing but
“Stuff!” again. “Do you think anything in the world would make me
abandon my children--if I had any?” she cried. But though she was angry
with John and impatient of Rosalind, she kept the secret. And after a
time all audible comments on the subject died away. “There is something
mysterious about the matter,” people said; “I believe Mrs. Trevanion is
still living.” And then it began to be believed that she was ill and
obliged to travel for her health, which was the best suggestion that
could have been made.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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