"What could I have been thinking of," he said, "when I wrote you such a strange, stupid letter as I did yesterday? I must have lost my wits, and I hasten to atone for it by sending you another in a better and more natural vein. Burn the first, my dear Nansie, so that it may not be in existence to reproach me. A nice piece of inconsistency you have married, my dear! I do not remember ever to have been so cast down as I have been for two or three days past; but I should keep that to myself, and not burden you with a share of my despondency. It has been my habit always to look with a light spirit upon circumstances, whether they were in my favor or against me; and if I am to replace that by becoming savage and morose, I shall be laying up for myself a fine stock of unhappiness. So I determine, for your sake and mine, and for the sake of your dear little bairn, to whistle dull care away, and to make the best of things instead of the worst. Here am I, then, my usual self again, loving you with all my heart and soul, longing to be with you, longing to hold our dear bairn in my arms, longing to work to some good end. The question is, how to set about it, and what kind of end I am to work for. There is the difficulty--to fall into one's groove, as we have decided when we have talked about things, and then to go sailing smoothly along. Yes, that is it, and we must set ourselves to work to find out the way. I may confess to you, my dear wife, that up to this point success has not crowned my efforts; in point of fact, to put it plainly, I am thus far a failure. However, I cannot see how I am to blame. If I had had the gift of prophecy I should never have joined Mr. Seymour, but how was one to tell what would occur? Now, my dear, you urge me to make some approaches to Mr. Seymour with respect to money matters. Well, awkward as the position is, I have endeavored to do so, but have never got far enough, I am afraid, to make myself understood. My fault, I dare say, but just consider. There is nothing of the dependent in my relations with Mr. Seymour; he received me as an equal and we have associated as equals; when we first met there was no question raised as to a salary, and there has been none since. How, then, am I to go to him and say: 'You are indebted to me in such or such a sum'? It would be so coarse, and I do not see justification for it. If I have made a mistake I must suffer for it, and must not call upon another person to do so for me. That would not be consistent, or honorable, or gentlemanly. After all, my dearest, the standard of conduct is not arbitrary. What it would be right for Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith to do would not be right for me, and the reverse. What is to be done, then? Having made a mistake, I am too proud--perhaps not quite broken in yet--to get out of it in the most honorable way I can. It is in my power to say to Mr. Seymour: 'A thousand thanks for the pleasure you have afforded me and for the courtesies you have extended towards me, but my time is precious, and I must not keep away from my wife any longer.' That would be all right, but to follow it up with a request for a loan to enable me to get back to England would be so mean and coarse that I could never bring my tongue to utter the words. Can you understand my position, my darling? It is a humiliation to me to ask the question, but I am in a cleft stick, and am positively powerless to help myself. What a pity, what a pity that my original idea of living in a travelling caravan could not be carried out! Do you remember that delicious evening, dear? I should like to pass such another, and I dare say I should commit myself again to the foolish wish that it would last forever.
"Now, my dearest, I am quite cheerful and light-hearted, but there is something I must tell you. I must warn you first, though, that this is a secret between ourselves; on no account must it be disclosed to your uncle or to any other person. Much may hang upon it--I do not know what; I prefer not to think; but at all events I must do nothing base or treacherous. If confidence has been reposed in me I must not betray it. But mark what I say, dear; it is only lately that I have come to a knowledge or a suspicion of certain things, and no hint must escape me of that knowledge or suspicion (it is a mixture of both) to any except yourself.
"In speaking of Mr. Seymour you would naturally suppose that you were speaking of an Englishman, the name being unmistakably English. But Mr. Seymour is not an Englishman, and therefore the name must be assumed. As to this I have no definite information, but it is so certainly. It did not occur to me to mention to you that Mr. Seymour was probably a foreigner, the matter seeming to be of such small importance. He speaks English fluently, with the slightest accent; speaks also French, German, Italian, and Russian, as to the precisely correct accent of any one of which I am not a competent judge. I am not given to curiosity, and have a habit of believing what I am told; that is, I do not look much below the surface of things. Now, this may lead a man into a scrape.
"Were I alone, without wife and child, I should, I dare say, allow myself to drift according to circumstances, but I am bound to consider you. Well, then, Mr. Seymour, with whose right name I am not acquainted, has ideas with which I am not sure whether I agree; he has a mission with which I am not sure whether I sympathize. There are large movements in public affairs which require deep investigation before one finally and firmly makes up one's mind. Take, for example, the revolutionary movement--the idea that all people should be upon an equality, the mission to bring this about. I had better not write to greater length upon this theme. If you do not quite understand my meaning I will explain it more fully when we are together again. In saying that I am deeply anxious to get back to England soon, and that I must by some means manage it, I am thinking more of you than of myself. Shortly before writing the letter which I sent to you yesterday, I allowed myself to be led away by certain disclosures which were made to me for the purpose of binding me to a certain course--Mr. Seymour and the friends he meets and makes thinking me ripe for it, perhaps, and giving me credit for being cleverer than I am; and it was an amateur enthusiasm which drove me to conclusions to which I would prefer not to commit myself--again, more for you and our dear little one's sake than for my own. There! The confession is made; perhaps you can thread your way through my mysterious allusions. And now, my darling--"
Then the letter went on, and was concluded with expressions of love and tenderness, and occasional drifting into whimsical by-paths, in which the nature of the old Kingsley Nansie loved so well was faithfully depicted.
On that evening Nansie nerved her courage to speak to her uncle about Kingsley's desire to return to England, and her own that he should do so without delay.
"He is wasting his time," she said, "and cannot but feel it deeply that I am living upon your kindness."
"To which you are heartily welcome, Nansie," said Mr. Loveday.
"I know that, dear uncle; but is it as it should be?"
Without answering the question Mr. Loveday said: "Certainly it would be better that your husband should be at some profitable work. It is a pity, Nansie, that you did not marry a man who was accustomed to work."