"Not in so many words. It is my belief that she has endeavoured to obey implicitly every clear instruction that you have given her."
"You are wrong;—absolutely and altogether wrong. Heaven and earth! Do you mean to tell me now, after all that has taken place, that she did not know my wishes?"
"I have not said that. But you have chosen to place her in such a position, that though your word would go for much with her, she cannot bring herself to respect your wishes."
"And you call that being dutiful and affectionate!"
"I call it human and reasonable; and I think that it is compatible with duty and affection. Have you consulted her wishes?"
"Always!"
"Consult them now then, and bid her come back to you."
"No;—never! As far as I can see, I will never do so. The moment she is away from me this man goes to her, and she receives him. She must have known that she was wrong,—and you must know it."
"I do not think that she is half so wrong as you yourself," said Stanbury. To this Trevelyan made no answer, and they both remained silent some minutes. Stanbury had a communication to make before he went, but it was one which he wished to delay as long as there was a chance that his friend's heart might be softened;—one which he need not make if Trevelyan would consent to receive his wife back to his house. There was the day's paper lying on the table, and Stanbury had taken it up and was reading it,—or pretending to read it.
"I will tell you what I propose to do," said Trevelyan.