'Oh, Harry, Harry,' said she, 'do not call him Mr. Tudor—pray, pray; now that we are going—now that we shall never wound your sight again! do not call him Mr. Tudor.
He has done wrong; I do not deny it; but which of us is there that has not?'
'It was not on that account,' said he; 'I could forgive all that.'
Gertrude understood him, and her cheeks and brow became tinged with red. It was not from shame, nor yet wholly from a sense of anger, but mingled feelings filled her heart; feelings which she could in nowise explain. 'If you have forgiven him that'—she would have said, had she thought it right to speak out her mind—'if you have forgiven him that, then there is nothing left for further forgiveness.'
Gertrude had twice a better knowledge of the world than he had, twice a quicker perception of how things were going, and should be made to go. She saw that it was useless to refer further to her husband. Norman had come there at her request to say adieu to her; that she and he, who had been friends since she was a child, might see each other before they were separated for ever by half a world, and that they might part in love and charity. She would be his sister-in-law, he would be son to her mother, husband to her Linda; he had been, though he now denied it, her husband's staunchest friend in his extremity; and it would have added greatly to the bitterness of her departure had she been forced to go without speaking to him one kindly word. The opportunity was given to her, and she would not utterly mar its sweetness by insisting on his injustice to her husband.
They all remained silent for a while, during which Gertrude fondled her baby, and Norman produced before the elder boy some present that he had brought for him.
'Now, Alley,' said Mrs. Woodward, 'you're a made man; won't that do beautifully to play with on board the big ship?'
'And so, Harry, you have given up official life altogether,' said Gertrude.
'Yes,' said he—'the last day of the last year saw my finale at the Weights and Measures. I did not live long—officially—to enjoy my promotion. I almost wish myself back again.'
'You'll go in on melting days, like the retired tallow-chandler,' said Gertrude; 'but, joking apart, I wish you joy on your freedom from thraldom; a government office in England is thraldom. If a man were to give his work only, it would be well. All men who have to live by labour must do that; but a man has to give himself as well as his work; to sacrifice his individuality; to become body and soul a part of a lumbering old machine.'