What she now hoped was, that entire separation, coupled with the memory of the boy's misdeeds, would cure Sir Charles entirely of his affection for Reginald; and so that, after about twenty years more of conjugal fidelity, she might find courage to reveal to her husband the fault of her youth at a time when all its good results remained to help excuse it, and all its bad results had vanished.
Such was the plan this extraordinary woman conceived, and its success so far had a wonderful effect on her health.
But a couple of days passed, and she did not hear either from Reginald or Mr. Rolfe. That made her a little anxious.
On the third day Compton asked her, with an angry flush on his brow, whether she had not sent Reginald up to London.
“Yes, dear,” said Lady Bassett.
“Well, he is not gone, then.”
“Oh!”
“He is living at his nurse's. I saw him talking to an old gypsy that lives on the farm.”
Lady Bassett groaned, but said nothing.
“Never mind, mamma,” said Compton. “Your other children must love you all the more.”