“Yes, yes, dear. I had no choice; it was put to me as a matter of duty, and by the Secretary of State himself. Also, if I had refused, I am sure that it would have been remembered against me; and as you know, it is important now that I should get on, for your sake.”
“Men are generally supposed to have duties towards their wives,” she answered, but in a softer tone, for his remark about his career appealed to her.
He was right. Edith considered it very important that he should get on.
Also, now that she came to think of it, this swift and sudden separation would, after all, be no overwhelming blow to her. She seemed to have seen plenty of Rupert lately, and was quite willing to postpone that continual and more intimate relationship which it is the object of marriage to establish. Had she been what is called in love, it would doubtless be different, but Edith’s bosom glowed with no such ardours, of which, she reflected, Rupert had enough for both of them. The obvious conclusion was that it is quite as easy to respect, admire, and even sympathise with a spouse in the Soudan as with one living in London. Then as she was preparing herself to admit, as grudgingly as possible, that this change might be for the best, however much it tore her feelings, a new idea occurred to her. Probably Rupert expected that she would accompany him at twenty-four hours’ notice.
“It is dreadfully sad to be separated so soon,” she said, with a little sob. “I suppose that I could not come with you?”
Rupert’s face brightened.
“Well,” he said, “you could, but of course there are difficulties; not much time to get ready; hot season beginning and the cholera outbreak that is really bad in Cairo and Alexandria, at one of which I should have to leave you.”
“I can’t pretend, Rupert dear, that heat agrees with me, or that I should enjoy getting the cholera, which I am sure I should, for I always catch things, but at the same time,” Edith answered, looking at him with her sweet eyes, “I am perfectly willing to take the risk if you think I could be the slightest comfort or help to you.”
“Comfort, yes; help, no, rather in the way,” he muttered more to himself than to her.
For a struggle was going on in Rupert’s mind. He positively could not bear the idea of parting with his wife almost at the church door. It was a bitter disappointment to him, as it must be to any man who marries from motives of affection, and the very thought of it caused his heart to ache physically. At the same time, he knew that Edith did feel heat, for his mother had told him this, and the cholera was so virulent that he heard by letter from Cairo that every European there, also at Port Said and Alexandria, especially women and children, who could afford or contrive to get away, had done so. Could he take this utterly unacclimatised English lady thither at such a time, just out of selfishness, and at the beginning of the hot weather? Supposing she fell ill! Supposing anything happened to her! He turned white at the mere thought of such a thing, and said: