“Me too,” said the cook, “me too.”
Meanwhile Regina was sitting pecking, I can call it nothing else, at a dainty little pudding. Her thoughts were very bitter and her heart was full of a stern resolve. Yes, she would grasp her nettle, she would remain in doubt not a single day longer. She would just take a handbag, as Alfred had done, and she would leave a note for Julia, and she would go off to Paris by the night boat. She would grasp her nettle; she would, at least, learn the worst. If Alfred were no longer hers—well, she would shape her life accordingly. There should be no half measures, it should be all or nothing. Truly she had given all that she had to give freely. She had, as she believed, accepted and valued the whole of her husband’s love. There should be no betwixt and between, it should be her or the other one, Regina or the hussy. And then Regina remembered that to carry out her scheme she must at once put on her things and go to the bank and get some money.
CHAPTER XXXIV
A TRENCHANT QUESTION
When months of doubt have been crystallized into one simple question how easy the way seems!
Mrs. Whittaker laid her plans for leaving Ye Dene with the skill of a diplomat and the secrecy of a detective. She determined that she would take nobody into her confidence. If there was going to be a hideous scene with Alfred when she got to the end of her journey, she preferred to have it without witnesses, especially either of her own children. She went down to the bank and drew out sufficient money to cover all expenses and a little over, and then returned home in order to prepare for her journey. She chose her plainest frock, a rough brown tweed, tailor built, according to the advice and under the direction of Madame d’Estelle, who did not make tailor gowns herself, but introduced clients to a gentleman in that line, and generally supervised the taste of her customers. On her carefully arranged coiffure she wore a toque to match her dress—when I say “to match her dress” I mean it was a creation of brown velvet, with a strip of sable, some gold buckles and a twist of yellowish lace. Over her shoulders she put the dark sables which Alfred had given her, took the muff upon her arm, and then she went down to her own desk, where she wrote a letter to Julia:—
“Dearest”—she wrote—“I am going to join your father in Paris. I leave you ten pounds; if you want more money than this before I return, which is not very likely, here are a couple of signed cheeks for you to use. I know that you won’t mind being left alone for a few days. If you do, you might go and stay with Maudie. I am leaving by the Calais-Dover route and will let you know as soon as I arrive in Paris.—Your fond and loving
“Mother.”