“Two years ago; and two years hence you will be as calm as I am now, and far, far happier, I trust, for you are a man, and free to act as you please.”
Something like a smile, but a very bitter one, crossed his face for a moment.
“You have not been happy, lately?” he said, with a kind of effort to regain composure, and a determination to waive the further discussion of his own calamity.
“Happy?” I repeated, almost provoked at such a question. “Could I be so, with such a husband?”
“I have noticed a change in your appearance since the first years of your marriage,” pursued he: “I observed it to—to that infernal demon,” he muttered between his teeth; “and he said it was your own sour temper that was eating away your bloom: it was making you old and ugly before your time, and had already made his fireside as comfortless as a convent cell. You smile, Mrs. Huntingdon; nothing moves you. I wish my nature were as calm as yours.”
“My nature was not originally calm,” said I. “I have learned to appear so by dint of hard lessons and many repeated efforts.”
At this juncture Mr. Hattersley burst into the room.
“Hallo, Lowborough!” he began—“Oh! I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed on seeing me. “I didn’t know it was a tête-à-tête. Cheer up, man,” he continued, giving Lord Lowborough a thump on the back, which caused the latter to recoil from him with looks of ineffable disgust and irritation. “Come, I want to speak with you a bit.”
“Speak, then.”
“But I’m not sure it would be quite agreeable to the lady what I have to say.”