“No, that isn’t enough. The plan I have in mind is this. I should take a good large house—no doubt rents are low in the neighbourhood—and ask your sisters to come and live with us. I think it would be a good thing both for them and for you.”
“You can’t be sure that they would agree to it. You see that Virginia prefers her lodgings to living here.”
Oddly enough, this was the case. On their return from Guernsey they had invited Virginia to make a permanent home with them, and she refused. Her reasons Monica could not understand; those which she alleged—vague arguments as to its being better for a wife’s relatives not to burden the husband—hardly seemed genuine. It was possible that Virginia had a distaste for Widdowson’s society.
“I think they both would be glad to live at Clevedon,” he urged, “judging from your sisters’ talk. It’s plain that they have quite given up the idea of the school, and Alice, you tell me, is getting dissatisfied with her work at Yatton. But I must know whether you will enter seriously into this scheme.”
Monica kept silence.
“Please answer me.”
“Why have you thought of it?”
“I don’t think I need explain. We have had too many unpleasant conversations, and I wish to act for the best without saying things you would misunderstand.”
“There is no fear of my misunderstanding. You have no confidence in me, and you want to get me away into a quiet country place where I shall be under your eyes every moment. It’s much better to say that plainly.”
“That means you would consider it going to prison.”