"Do you?" asked Rose McDougall tartly. "How odd! Now, as to me, nothing would surprise me more than to find Mrs. Errington ashamed of anything."
These and similar things had been freely spoken in Whitford, and although the world resented Mrs. Errington's manner of complaint, as being deficient in humility and candour—for it is provoking to find people who ought to lament in sackcloth and ashes, holding up their heads and making a merit of their deserved misfortunes—yet the world admitted that Mrs. Errington had substantial cause for complaint. The Honourable Castalia was really intolerable, and the only possible excuse for her behaviour was—what had been whispered with many nods and becks, and much mystery—that she was not quite of sound mind. And when the news began to circulate in Whitford that young Errington had gone to London suddenly, and almost secretly, the first, and most general, impression was that he had run away from his wife. To this solution the tradesmen to whom he owed money added, "And his debts!" Mrs. Errington's statement as to Lord Seely's illness was not much believed. And if he were ill, was it likely that my lord should cause Algernon Errington to be sent for? Later on in the course of the day, it began to be known that Castalia had accompanied her husband to the coach-office, so that his departure had not been clandestine so far as she was concerned, at all events. But was it not rather odd, the postmaster rushing off in this sudden manner? How did he manage to leave his business? Mr. Cooper never did such things! Not, probably, that it would make much difference whether Algernon Errington were here or not; for everybody knew pretty well that he was a mere cipher in the office, and Mr. Gibbs did everything!
As to Mr. Gibbs, he was inwardly much disquieted at his chief's unwarranted absence. He had received a note which Algernon had left behind him to be delivered on the morning after his departure. But the note was not very satisfactory:—
"My dear Gibbs," it said—"I am off to town by the night mail. My wife's uncle, Lord Seely, is ill, and I must see him. I shall speak to him on your behalf, of course. The inheritance must soon fall to you, without waiting for the demise of the present holder. I shall be back on Wednesday at latest. Meanwhile, I trust implicitly to your discretion.
"Yours always,
"A. A. E."
This was oracular enough. But Mr. Obadiah Gibbs understood very well, as he read it, that by the "inheritance" which must soon fall to him, Algernon meant the place of postmaster. Still there was nothing in the note to commit Algernon in any way whatever. And his going off to London without leave and without notice, was a proceeding which shocked all the old clerk's notions of what was fitting. The thought did cross his mind, "Suppose he should never come back! Suppose he is off to America, as a short cut out of his troubles!" The thing was possible. And the possibility haunted Mr. Obadiah Gibbs persistently, though he tried to argue it away.
In the afternoon of Tuesday, Rhoda Maxfield walked into the post-office, and asked to speak with Mr. Errington. She was on foot and alone, and was looking so pretty and blooming as to arrest the attention of the dry old clerk. When he told her that Mr. Errington was away in London, and would not be back until the next day, she appeared disappointed. "Will you tell him, please, that I came, and wanted to speak to him particularly, and beg him to come to me as soon as ever he gets back to Whitford?" she said, in her soft lady's voice. Mr. Gibbs did not answer her. He stared straight over her shoulder as if Medusa's head had suddenly appeared behind her. Rhoda turned to see what had petrified Mr. Gibbs into silence, and saw Castalia Errington.
Rhoda was startled, but more from sympathy with Gibbs than from any other reason. The quick colour mounted into her cheeks and deepened their blush rose hue to damask. "Oh, Mrs. Errington," she said, and held out her hand. Castalia did not take it; did not speak; did not, after one baleful stare of anger, look at her. "Come into the private office," she said, addressing Gibbs in a dry, husky voice, and with a manner of imperious harshness. As she stood with her hand on the lock of the door leading into the inner room, she looked round over her shoulder and flung these words at Rhoda like a missile; "You have made a mistake. My husband is not here to-day, of all days. He has been remiss in not letting you know of his journey. But men are apt, I have been told, to fail in polite attention to persons of your sort."
"Mrs. Errington!" cried Rhoda, turning pale, less at the words than at the look and tone which interpreted their meaning so that it was impossible altogether to misunderstand it. "I came here to speak to Mr. Errington about something he wished to hear of. And if I may say it to you instead——"
"To ME? How dare you?" Castalia turned full on her with a livid, furious face, lit by a pair of hollow, burning eyes. Poor, artificial, small product of her social surroundings as she usually seemed, the passion in the woman transfigured her now with a tragic fire and force, before which Rhoda's innocent lily nature seemed shrivelled and discoloured, like a flower in the blast of a furnace. It was strange to himself, but Mr. Gibbs, as he looked at the two women, and was fully conscious on which side lay the right in the matter, could not help feeling an inexplicable thrill of sympathy with Castalia as she stood there breathing quickly and hard, with dilated nostrils and suffering, tearless eyes. The truth is that there was some subtle ingredient in Mr. Gibbs's composition which was more cognate with flesh and blood—even erring, passionate flesh and blood—than with the cool fluid that circulates in the petals of a lily. David Powell would have said that it was a manifest stirring of the Old Adam which caused the regenerate Obadiah Gibbs—a professing Christian, a confirmed and tried pillar of Methodism, a man whose precious experiences had been poured forth for the edification of many a band meeting—to be conscious for the first time of some fellow-feeling with Castalia, at the very moment when she was conducting herself in a manner to shock every sentiment of what was just and fitting. But whether it were due to original sin, or to whatever other cause, the fact remained that Obadiah Gibbs for the first time in his life now felt disposed to spare and screen the postmaster's wife.
"I'll give the message when Mr. Errington comes back," said he to Rhoda, almost hustling her out of the office as he spoke. "The poor thing is not very well," he added, in a lower voice. "She has been a good deal cut up, one way and another. You mustn't think anything of her manner, nor bear malice, Miss Maxfield. Good morning."