Mr. Pye, who was present, saw that Hester’s eyes were full of tears, and concluding that her mother had said something pathetic, turned to the bright side, as he thought, and expatiated on the delight that awaited her that evening in reaching her home again, and how Edgar’s reception of her would more than make up for the sadness her Haleham friends caused her by their parting grief.
“You will come to town on business again, Mr. Pye? You will be looking in upon me some day, I dare say?”
Mr. Pye was ready to own that London was not to him what it used to appear; or perhaps it might be that he was not so fit for London as he was. The very walking along Cheapside flurried him, and he was nervous about the crossings, and people seemed to think him stupid; whereas he used to be considered tolerably apt at whatever business he had to transact. Hester understood that this was the irritation of infirmity, and said no more about his leaving home. Her mother, however, put in her word.
“O, Mr. Pye, you will be sure to go, one of these days. And you should be very much flattered at Mrs. Morrison’s saying anything about it. I assure you, she has not invited me.”
This was the last hint Hester had the pleasure of hearing before she took her seat, and went on her dreary way.
Chapter IV.
THE WIFE’S RETURN.
Even the journey was less dreary than the arrival. Hester had hoped that Edgar would be out, that she might settle herself, and be ready to give him a wife-like greeting on his entrance. She trusted much to this for forgiveness for having come home without leave and without warning.
The house door was open, and there were pails and trestles in the passage, and a strong smell of paint. Remorse struck instantly upon Hester’s heart. Edgar was making the house neat and pretty to surprise her on her return, and she was rewarding him with suspicion and disappointment.
For one moment she glanced in thought at the possibility of going back as quietly as she might, and keeping her trip a secret: but this would have been too remarkable a proceeding to escape painful remark. She must go on now, and make the best of it.
The first person she met was a foot-boy, who said he belonged to the house, but who was a stranger to her. It occurred to her that Edgar might have removed, and she had perceived that a new, stout, oaken-door had been put up some feet within the passage; an alteration scarcely likely to occur as desirable to a man so perpetually absent from home as Edgar, and who lived up stairs. The boy, however, declared that his master’s name was Morrison, and that he was now in the house, taking his wine with a gentleman, after dinner.