‘And there is another thing,’ she added; ‘I believe Avice and John are very fond of one another, and I want you, if he proposes for her, to give your consent.’
‘Avice and John! My dear child, you are dreaming!’
‘Oh no, I am not. I know all about it as well as if they had told me; and oh, Jerome, don’t come between them, please.’
‘I think you are match-making a little; but if it should turn out so, I shall certainly not oppose it, and I will see about Monk’s Gate being settled upon Avice at once.’
Nita thanked him, and the subject dropped.
Mr. Bolton’s will was much applauded by all who heard of it, as being very just and righteous–a pattern of a will. Needless to go into details. The property was left to Nita and her husband on trust, subject to certain restrictions, for their lifetime, when the bulk of it went to a prospective elder son, proper provision being made for what other children there might be, and for Nita, if she were left a widow.
Having left behind him these right and equitable provisions, Mr. Bolton was laid away to his rest in Wellfield churchyard, and allowed to sleep out his long sleep in peace.
After this the household at the Abbey went on much as usual. Nita, though subdued, did not look utterly unhappy. Yet she was a most unhappy wife, and Jerome knew it well, and felt the unhappiness to be beyond his power of curing. Nothing would restore her happiness now, and nothing give her full contentment, except the knowledge that he loved her–perhaps not even that, if she knew all of his conduct towards Sara–for Nita was tender-hearted. In the meantime, there was that unalterable fact–the past, the one thing that no power in the heavens above or in the earth beneath could make different, or cause to be as if it had not been.
Mr. Bolton was gone. John and Avice continued to bicker and squabble in a polite way, and were as much engrossed in one another as two really unselfish persons can be. Nita, as time progressed, kept more in the house, spent more hours on her sofa, with book and work, with Avice by her side, or Jerome, or alone with her dog Speedwell. She often sent them away, telling them she liked to be alone, and did not wish them to be tied to her. Jerome once uneasily inquired of Avice:
‘Are you sure Nita really prefers to be left with her book? What book is that she reads in so much?’