It was in vain that he tried every means in his power to please her, consulted her about their travelling arrangements, asked her whether she wanted money. Even that last inducement to break down her sullen resentment failed.
She shrugged her shoulders, and without looking up, told him that, after the fuss he had made about giving her money, she had resolved not to trouble him for more than her allowance in future.
Sir Robert, greatly distressed by this new attitude, had recourse, much against his will, to his wife’s parents for help in the emergency.
The Marquis was unsympathetic. He was of opinion that every man should know how to manage his own wife, and that his son-in-law had better not carry his domestic troubles outside his own door.
But Lady Eridge, who perhaps understood, better than did the Marquis, the wayward and difficult temper of their child, was greatly distressed, and did not dare to confess what Lady Sarah had told her since the frustrated elopement, news of which she had herself brought to her mother.
Lady Sarah had told her mother frankly that she hated her husband, that she would never get on any better with him than she was now doing, and that, if he were to insist upon taking her away with him to Egypt, she would throw herself into the sea on the way out.
How was Lady Eridge to tell her son-in-law this? Knowing as she did, that some of the blame for the ill-assorted marriage lay on her shoulders, she was desperately anxious to make the best of things, and the advice she at length gave Sir Robert was that he should give up the idea of Egypt, and let Lady Sarah go to the Riviera as usual without him.
“She will be with me,” urged the Marchioness. “And you can trust me to look after her.”
“But will you be able to prevent her seeing Jack Rotherfield?”
“Would it even be wise to do so?” urged Lady Eridge.