Godwin and Mary now made their joint home in the Polygon, Somer’s Town. But the former had his separate lodgings in the Evesham Buildings, where he went every morning to work, and where he sometimes spent the night. They saw little, if any, more of each other than they had before, and were as independent in their goings-out and comings-in. On the 8th of April, when the news was just being spread, Mary wrote to Godwin, as if to assure him that she, for her part, intended to discourage the least change in their habits. She says:—
“I have just thought that it would be very pretty in you to call on Johnson to-day. It would spare me some awkwardness, and please him; and I want you to visit him often on a Tuesday. This is quite disinterested, as I shall never be of the party. Do, you would oblige me. But when I press anything, it is always with a true wifish submission to your judgment and inclination. Remember to leave the key of No. 25 with us, on account of the wine.”
While Mary seconded Godwin in his domestic theories, there were times when less independence would have pleased her better. She had been obliged to fight the battle of life alone, and, when the occasion required it, she was equal to meeting single-handed whatever difficulties might arise. But instinctively she preferred to lean upon others for protection and help. Godwin would never wittingly have been selfish or cruel in withholding his assistance. But, as each had agreed to go his and her own way, it no more occurred to him to interfere with what he thought her duties, than it would have pleased him had she interfered with his. She had consented to his proposition, and in accepting her consent, he had not been wise enough to read between the lines. Much as he loved Mary, he never seems to have really understood her. She had now to take entire charge of matters which her friends had hitherto been eager to attend to for her. They could not well come forward, once it had become Godwin’s right to do what to them had been a privilege. Mary felt their loss and his indifference, and frankly told him so:—
“I am not well to-day,” she wrote in one of their little conversational notes, dated the 11th of April; “my spirits have been harassed. Mary will tell you about the state of the sink, etc. Do you know you plague me—a little—by not speaking more determinately to the landlord, of whom I have a mean opinion. He tires me by his pitiful way of doing everything. I like a man who will say yes or no at once.”
The trouble seems to have been not easily disposed of, for the same day she wrote again, this time with some degree of temper:—
“I wish you would desire Mr. Marshal to call on me. Mr. Johnson or somebody has always taken the disagreeable business of settling with tradespeople off my hands. I am perhaps as unfit as yourself to do it, and my time appears to me as valuable as that of other persons accustomed to employ themselves. Things of this kind are easily settled with money, I know; but I am tormented by the want of money, and feel, to say the truth, as if I was not treated with respect, owing to your desire not to be disturbed.”
These were mere passing clouds over the bright horizon of their lives, such as it is almost impossible for any two people living together in the same relationship to escape. Both were sensitive, and each had certain qualities peculiarly calculated to irritate the other. Mary was quick-tempered and nervous. Godwin was cool and methodical. With Mary, love was the first consideration; Godwin, who had lived alone for many years, was ruled by habit. Their natures were so dissimilar, that occasional interruptions to their peace were unavoidable. But these never developed into serious warfare. They loved each other too honestly to cherish ill-feeling. Godwin wrote to Mary one morning,—
“I am pained by the recollection of our conversation last night [of the conversation there is unfortunately no record]. The sole principle of conduct of which I am conscious in my behavior to you has been in everything to study your happiness. I found a wounded heart, and as that heart cast itself on me, it was my ambition to heal it. Do not let me be wholly disappointed.
“Let me have the relief of seeing you this morning. If I do not call before you go out, call on me.”
He was not disappointed. A reconciliatory interview must have taken place, for on the very same day Mary wrote him this essentially friendly note:—