"And yours as loud as any," said the Doctor, angrily.
"That is unkind and unjust," said Mr. Puddicombe. "What I have said, I have said to yourself, and not to others; and what I have said, I have said in answer to questions asked by yourself." Then the Doctor apologised with what grace he could. But when he left the house his heart was still bitter against Mr. Puddicombe.
He was almost ashamed of himself as he rode back to Bowick,—first, because he had condescended to ask advice, and then because, after having asked it, he had been so thoroughly scolded. There was no one whom Mr. Puddicombe would admit to have been wrong in the matter except the Doctor himself. And yet though he had been so counselled and so scolded, he had found himself obliged to apologize before he left the house! And, too, he had been made to understand that he had better not rush into print. Though the 'Broughton Gazette' should come to the attack again and again, he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicombe's dirty boot had convinced him. He could see the thoroughly squalid look of the boot that had been scraped in vain, and appreciate the wholesomeness of the unadulterated mud. There was more in the man than he had ever acknowledged before. There was a consistency in him, and a courage, and an honesty of purpose. But there was no softness of heart. Had there been a grain of tenderness there, he could not have spoken so often as he had done of Mrs. Peacocke without expressing some grief at the unmerited sorrows to which that poor lady had been subjected.
His own heart melted with ruth as he thought, while riding home, of the cruelty to which she had been and was subjected. She was all alone there, waiting, waiting, waiting, till the dreary days should have gone by. And if no good news should come, if Mr. Peacocke should return with tidings that her husband was alive and well, what should she do then? What would the world then have in store for her? "If it were me," said the Doctor to himself, "I'd take her to some other home and treat her as my wife in spite of all the Puddicombes in creation;—in spite of all the bishops."
The Doctor, though he was a self-asserting and somewhat violent man, was thoroughly soft-hearted. It is to be hoped that the reader has already learned as much as that;—a man with a kind, tender, affectionate nature. It would perhaps be unfair to raise a question whether he would have done as much, been so willing to sacrifice himself, for a plain woman. Had Mr. Stantiloup, or Sir Samuel Griffin if he had suddenly come again to life, been found to have prior wives also living, would the Doctor have found shelter for them in their ignominy and trouble? Mrs. Wortle, who knew her husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done so. Mrs. Peacocke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was a man who thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was jealous would be quite untrue. She liked to see her husband talking to a pretty woman, because he would be sure to be in a good humour and sure to make the best of himself. She loved to see him shine. But she almost wished that Mrs. Peacocke had been ugly, because there would not then have been so much danger about the school.
"I'm just going up to see her," said the Doctor, as soon as he got home,—"just to ask her what she wants."
"I don't think she wants anything," said Mrs. Wortle, weakly.
"Does she not? She must be a very odd woman if she can live there all day alone, and not want to see a human creature."
"I was with her yesterday."
"And therefore I will call to-day," said the Doctor, leaving the room with his hat on.