“I will go straight to her,” she said, “and ask her to persuade you, not to forgive me, if you don’t want to forgive, but to do me justice. You are not doing me justice now.”
“I am trying to,” said he gravely.
Lady Sarah was at the door.
“Perhaps, with her help, you will succeed,” said she with some appearance of dignity, as she swept out of the room, throwing at Jack a glance of intelligence which implied that she was following his lead.
Sir Robert did not condescend to look at Jack again, but turning towards him, with his eyes averted, he said:
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
And with that he left the room and went upstairs, determined to keep watch himself, in order to prevent any meeting between his wife and Jack before the latter was safely got out of the house.
Already he was hoping that things were not so bad as he had at first been inclined to fear. The spirit shown by his wife had been, he thought, a hopeful sign. Bad as her conduct had been in robbing her own husband, he was hoping that might prove to be the worst, and that even that was rather the result of malice and mischief than depravity.
Certainly it was hard to reconcile this view of her behaviour with common sense. But Sir Robert shrank from the alternative. Going straight upstairs, with the intention of playing gaoler, as his wife had called it, to the extent of preventing any interview between her and Jack, he saw Lady Sarah going into Rhoda’s room.
This was just what he would have wished, and he went on to his own apartment, which was next to that of his wife, without affecting to see her.