On the day on which Cecil had forged the cheque, Meredith Vyner entered his wife's boudoir with the intention of coming to a serious explanation with her.
Several times, lately, had the word "separation" been pronounced between them, without, however, her attaching much importance to it. She knew that he was miserable, she knew that his love for her had been worn away, but she knew also that he was weak, and thought he would never have courage enough to proceed to extremities.
In this she made a great mistake. Vyner was weak, it is true, but he was also obstinate; he was easily cajoled, but not easily driven from any plan he had once resolved on. Unable to resist the wildest caprices of his wife, while he loved her, she lost all power over him in losing his affection. This she did not suspect. Like many other people, she altogether miscalculated the nature of her power over him, and imagined that what she really gained by cajolery and pretended affection, she gained by mere cunning and strength of will.
Their relative positions were altogether changed. Vyner, no longer the doating husband, was now the obstinate man. He saw that it was impossible to live happily with her, and saw that if his children were once more around him—if Violet especially were once more at home—he could again resume his peaceful routine of existence.
"I am come to speak seriously to you," he said, as seating himself opposite to her, he drew out his deliberative snuff-box.
"And I am in no humour for it," she replied, "my head aches. My nerves are irritable this morning."
"What I have to say must be said, and the sooner it is said the better for both of us."
She was surprised at the firmness of his manner.
"It is on the old subject," he added; "I need not again recapitulate the many strong objections your conduct this last year has given rise to, but I wish once for all to understand whether you intend persisting in it, or whether you will pay a little more attention to what is due both to me and yourself."
"How tiresome you are on that subject! When will you understand that a young woman cannot have an old head upon her shoulders, unless it is also an ugly one? I shall be grave and sedate enough in time, I dare say; meanwhile, allow me to observe, that, although I may be fond of admiration, yet I know perfectly well what is due to myself."