The question was—had Crewe been content to leave Falmouth without making inquiries of other people? To a man of his experience, nothing was easier than such investigation. But, with other grounds of anxiety, this had ceased to disturb Nancy’s mind. Practically, she lived as though all danger were at an end. The task immediately before her seemed very simple; she had only to resume the old habits, and guard against thoughtless self-betrayal in her everyday talk. The chance that any one would discover her habit of visiting a certain house at the distance of several miles from Camberwell, was too slight for consideration.
She wrote to Mr. Barmby, senior, informing him of her return, in improved health, to Grove Lane, and thanking him once more for his allowing her to make so long a stay in Cornwall. If he wished to see her, she would be at home at any time convenient to him. In a few days the old gentleman called, and for an hour or two discoursed well-meaning commonplace. He was sorry to observe that she looked a trifle pale; in the autumn she must go away again, and to a more bracing locality—he would suggest Broadstairs, which had always exercised the most beneficial effect upon his own health. Above all, he begged her to refrain from excessive study, most deleterious to a female constitution. Then he asked questions about Horace, and agreed with Nancy that the young man ought to decide upon some new pursuit, if he had definitely abandoned the old; lack of steady occupation was most deleterious at his age. In short, Mr. Barmby rather apologised for his guardianship than sought to make assertion of it; and Nancy, by a few feminine devices, won a better opinion than she had hitherto enjoyed. On the day following, Samuel Barmby and his sisters waited upon Miss. Lord; all three were surprisingly solemn, and Samuel talked for the most part of a ‘paragraph’ he had recently read, which stated that the smoke of London, if properly utilised, would be worth a vast sum of money. ‘The English are a wasteful people,’ was his conclusion; to which Nancy assented with a face as grave as his own.
Not a little to her astonishment, the next day brought her a long letter in Samuel’s fair commercial hand. It began by assuring her that the writer had no intention whatever of troubling her with the renewal of a suit so firmly rejected on more than one occasion; he wished only to take this opportunity of her return from a long absence to express the abiding nature of his devotion, which years hence would be unbroken as to-day. He would never distress her by unwelcome demonstrations; possibly she might never again hear from his lips what he now committed to paper. Enough for him, Samuel, to cherish a love which could not but exalt and purify him, which was indeed, ‘in the words of Shakespeare, “a liberal education.”’ In recompense of his self-command, he only besought that Miss. Lord would allow him, from time to time, to look upon her face, and to converse with her of intellectual subjects. ‘A paper,’ he added, ‘which I read last week at our Society, is now being printed—solely at the request of friends. The subject is one that may interest you, “The Influence of Culture on Morality.” I beg that you will accept the copy I shall have the pleasure of sending you, and that, at some future date, you will honour me with your remarks thereon.’
Which epistle Nancy cruelly read aloud to Mary, with a sprightliness and sarcastic humour not excelled by her criticisms of ‘the Prophet’ in days gone by. Mary did not quite understand, but she saw in this behaviour a proof of the wonderful courage with which Nancy faced her troubles.
A week had passed, and no news from America.
‘I don’t care,’ said Nancy. ‘Really and truly, I don’t care. Yesterday I never once thought of it—never once looked for the postman. The worst is over now, and he may write or not, as he likes.’
Mary felt sure there would be an explanation of such strange silence.
‘Only illness or death would explain it so as to make me forgive him. But he isn’t ill. He is alive, and enjoying himself.’
There was no bitterness in her voice. She seemed to have outlived all sorrows and anxieties relative to her husband.
Mary suggested that it was always possible to call at Mr. Vawdrey’s house and make inquiries of Mrs. Baker.