The matter, however, was not brought to an end here, for having conceived an idea, in his stubborn way, Mark Wentworth would not renounce it easily. He went the length of forbidding Christina to wear the jewels.
“As you cared not a brass farthing what became of her, poor old lady, I won’t have you flaunting about in her finery now she is dead. Besides, the things are left to me really, and I mean to take possession of them. Tell your maid to bring them to my room to-day.”
But Christina was more cunning than he.
She sent the jewels to her bankers.
“They were left to your wife for her use, and as I am, unfortunately, your wife, I intend to use them,” she said, with a good show of indifference and courage, two feelings that were by no means well founded, for Christina was an arrant coward, and she had good reason to know that her husband could resort to violence if he chose.
Her quiet determination, however, carried the day for a time.
Mark Wentworth suddenly ended the discussion by taking himself off to London. Christina knew perfectly well the sort of life he would lead there, but she made no effort to prevent him.
“The sooner he drinks himself into his grave, the better for everybody,” she said, recklessly.
She remained on herself at Sunstead, for the simple reason, to start with, that she did not know where to go, or what to do with herself. She made the old lady’s death an excuse to postpone the visit of Winnie and her husband. Christina knew perfectly well that Mrs. Kestridge would make it her business to know all that went on at Sunstead, and there was a good deal that would not bear being inspected.
“Winnie is so sly she will smile at you, and kick or pinch you at the same time,” she said to herself.