It was a trial of strength between them; Sir Robert, on his side, still hoped against hope that his generosity would conquer her gratitude in the end, and that she would appreciate the nobility of his revenge upon a wife who had been caught in the act of attempting to desert him. Lady Sarah, on her side, determined to show him that she was not to be bought over by his kindness, fought sullenly for the maintenance of her stolid ill-temper, and succeeded so far, but failed in her amiable wish to excite her husband to ill-humour or to reproach.
When they reached the Mill-house, they got out of the carriage, which had been sent to meet them, in just the same manner as they had got in that morning. Lady Sarah cold, listless, languid, almost plain in her ill-humour; Sir Robert calm, firm, unruffled as ever.
She did not even turn to speak about the parcels which were in the carriage. As a rule she was too much excited about any new purchase even to allow the servants to bring it in for her. Seizing it with both hands, she would run to the nearest sympathiser of her own sex, Minnie, or Rhoda, or even Mrs. Hawkes, to show her new possession with the glee of a child.
Now she marched into the house as if such frivolities were altogether beneath her.
She went upstairs to dress for dinner, and came down looking rather more contented than she had done all day.
Sir Robert flattered himself that she had at last broken down under the influence of the sable cloak or the handsome pendant. But he noted, with a slight uneasiness, that in proportion as she was more satisfied, the faces of Rhoda and Minnie were graver and more disturbed.
“Well, Sarah, have you shown the girls your pretty things?” asked Sir Robert as they all took their seats at the table.
Rhoda and Minnie looked at each other uncomfortably. The baronet glanced from one to the other, and then turned to his wife, upon whose face there was a most disagreeable look of gratified malice.
“Oh, yes, they’ve seen the things,” she said coolly. “As I don’t want another cloak, I offered it to Minnie, but she thought it was too old for her; and I offered Miss Pembury the pendant, as I hate pendants myself and I thought she might like it. But she didn’t care to accept it either. So I sent the cloak and the pendant, and the hats up to the Priory, in case Aileen or Philippa may like them.”
There was a long silence. Sir Robert went on eating his soup without gratifying her malice by so much as a look. The other two ladies followed his example, with scalding tears in their eyes. They all waited for the explosion which, they all felt sure, must come at last, after such a shocking exhibition of ingratitude and insolence on the part of his unworthy wife.