‘There’ll have to be a formal separation,’ was the startling announcement with which Amy answered her mother’s inquiry as to what had passed.
‘A separation? But, my dear—!’
Mrs Yule could not express her disappointment and dismay.
‘We couldn’t live together; it’s no use trying.’
‘But at your age, Amy! How can you think of anything so shocking? And then, you know it will be impossible for him to make you a sufficient allowance.’
‘I shall have to live as well as I can on the seventy-five pounds a year. If you can’t afford to let me stay with you for that, I must go into cheap lodgings in the country, like poor Mrs Butcher did.’
This was wild talking for Amy. The interview had upset her, and for the rest of the day she kept apart in her own room. On the morrow Mrs Yule succeeded in eliciting a clear account of the conversation which had ended so hopelessly.
‘I would rather spend the rest of my days in the workhouse than beg him to take me back,’ was Amy’s final comment, uttered with the earnestness which her mother understood but too well.
‘But you are willing to go back, dear?’
‘I told him so.’