He had a strange desire. He wanted to see Peace—not that he had any respect or friendship for the man—far from it—but he wanted to know how the discovery relative to Aveline’s paternity first came about. Peace would be able to give him this information.
Meanwhile his wife was in the enjoyment of wealth, luxury, and every earthly delight and comfort; if these could give her happiness she ought to be well satisfied, and to a certain extent she was. It is true at times she confessed to herself that the part she was playing was not altogether without its darker aspects.
She had not used her husband well, and she was much surprised that he had not chosen to answer her last letter. She thought he would be sure to write—there would perhaps be a passionate appeal to her to return—a passionate cry for love and pity.
She must answer that as well as she could. The die was cast now. She was as inflexible as the earl her grandfather—for she was an Ethalwood. Poor thing, she was proud when she thought of this—it was the very nature of the Ethalwoods to be uncompromising and unyielding—therefore, come what would, she could not alter her decision.
Still it was somewhat singular that Tom should have not thought it worth while to make an appeal—it was annoying.
She waited in vain for a letter from her husband. She would have been glad to have heard from him, if it were only two or three lines just to say how he was. She was piqued, and not a little vexed; she felt hurt.
She longed to know what he thought of her conduct, what he suffered, if he was unhappy. Unknown to herself in the midst of the splendour with which she was surrounded, she was still longing for his love. What strange inconsistencies there are in the human character! Any way she could not fail to acknowledge to herself that Tom was not selfish, and she did not feel that she could say the same of those by whom she was surrounded. Her mind and thoughts might be said to be in a state of transition.
It is true that she was made an idol of in her new home—she was surrounded with stately grandeur.
If her head ached every remedy and every luxury was offered to her, but there was no Tom to soothe and comfort her until the pain had ceased.
She missed him more than words can tell, and for some little time after her last letter to him she was undergoing the pangs of remorse.