The afternoon before his arrival, Letty and her friend had wandered about the grounds, talking of everything but what was uppermost in their hearts—the misery of one, the sympathy of the other. As they paced along the elder understood how empty the life of her companion was; she might not garden—the gardens were let; she had not even a dog—the nursery and the piano were her sole resources.
At tea Mrs. Hesketh realised that she was not a welcome guest. Her host did not find it necessary to conceal his sentiments; nor did she fail to remark, the abominable way in which he addressed his wife, and how he ordered her about, and pushed out of the room before her.
Dinner was a truly sombre meal: the fish was cold, and Mr. Blagdon had one of his worst attacks of temper. Vainly did the visitor endeavour to make light and airy conversation; he was so violent and abusive after the servants had withdrawn, that Letty, unable to restrain her tears, fled out of the room; but brave Mrs. Hesketh remained to remonstrate and do battle with the tyrant.
“If no one else is going to speak to you, Mr. Blagdon, I will,” she began intrepidly. “Everyone is crying shame on you for the way you neglect your young wife.”
“I don’t care a damn what they say!” he roared. “Let everyone mind their own business. She is jolly well treated—too well.”
“Is it too well, that she should be shut up here alone for months at a time? That she is cut off from all associates of her own class—that she is never taken into society?”
“She has everything she wants,” he blustered; “a fine house, and servants—and a baby. Why, my mother’s mother who lived here, and never stirred beyond the village, and was a woman of family—hadn’t half such a good time!”
“That must have been more than a hundred years ago, and the world has improved, and become enlightened since then. Letty is a girl who has been educated.”
“And you mean to say my mother’s mother wasn’t? Thank you!”
“You know very well what I mean.”