She made no reply.
‘You love him—is that so?’ I pursued. ‘Tell me honestly.’
I spoke as gently as it was in me to speak.
‘Honestly!’ she cried, looking up. ‘Honestly! No! If I loved him, could I have been so upset about Crettell? But we have been together so long. We are husband and wife, Carlotta. We are so used to each other. And generally he is so good. We’ve got on very well, considering. And now he’s left me. Think of the scandal! It will be terrible! terrible! A separation at my age! Carlotta, it’s unthinkable! He’s mad—that’s the only explanation. Haven’t I tried to be a good wife to him? He’s never found fault with me—never! And I’m sure, as regards him, I’ve had nothing to complain of.’
‘He will come back,’ I said. ‘He’ll think things over and see reason.’
And it was just as though I heard some other person saying these words.
‘But he didn’t come home last night,’ Mary insisted. ‘What the servants are thinking I shouldn’t like to guess.’
‘What does it matter what the servants think?’ I said brusquely.
‘But it does matter. He didn’t come home. He must have slept at a hotel. Fancy, sleeping at a hotel, and his home waiting for him! Oh, Carlotta, you’re too young to understand what I feel! You’re very clever, and you’re very sympathetic; but you can’t see things as I see them. Wait till you’ve been married fifteen years. The scandal! The shame! And me only too anxious to be a good wife, and to keep our home as it should be, and to help him as much as I can with my stupid brains in his business!’
‘I can understand perfectly,’ I asserted. ‘I can understand perfectly.’