I took hold of the fat, red hand. There are not many moments in life when one can do these things, preserving that dignity we choose to call essential; there are not many moments, but, undoubtedly, this was one. I took hold of the fat, red hand.
"I suppose that would make you quite happy, Mrs. Bullwell," I said.
"It would, sir—believe me, there's no happiness in this world, not without you have the marriage-lines."
"But once you've got those," said I.
Her expression became ecstatic then; whereupon I gently let go her hand.
"You'd be much happier then, sir," said she.
"I should," said I.
Taking it all round, that was not such a difficult situation. I have passed through worse. It was played moreover with a woman. By no means did I relish so much the thought of telling Moxon when he returned. However, it had to be done, and when the next day he arrived back from Ireland I collared him before even a sight of Nurse Barham was permitted him.
"Moxon," said I, "here—in my room."
He came obediently and I shut the door. When I turned round, every single word I had prepared to say was gone out of my head. And I had made it up so excellently, contriving Moxon should have been spared all confusion and I what little dignity I liked to call my own. But there it was, the whole elaborate preparation had vanished. All that I could think of was that I was no longer sleeping in my own bed, but in Moxon's. It seemed more necessary then to inform him of that than of anything else, and somehow or other I stammered it out.