She was therefore not unprepared for what happened when she began her visiting among the poor at Kingdon and her investigation into the needs of her husband’s tenants. She had gone to work openly about it, and he had taken no notice; but one morning, when he was about to leave for a few days’ hunting in one of the neighboring counties, he said to her, at the moment of departure:
“I want to tell you that I do not approve of the innovations which you are beginning to make in the management of affairs on the estate. The ladies of Kingdon Hall, heretofore, have left these matters to their husbands, and I prefer that you do the same. I mention it now so that I may see no signs of interference on my return.”
It was not at all unusual for him to take this tone with her, and he was following his usual custom in speaking to her in a moment of haste, whenever he had anything unpleasant to say. He could, in this way, end the conversation where he chose, and she saw that he had no intention of lingering now. The cart was at the door, and he had on his overcoat and even his hat, and stood drawing on and buttoning his gloves, with an unlighted cigar between his teeth. His eyes were bent upon his task, under frowning brows.
His cool and careless words, which her knowledge of him taught her were the veneering for an inexorable resolution, gave her a shock of disappointment. She did not often take a humble tone with him, but there was humility as well as entreaty in her voice as she now said,
“You won’t forbid my going to see the tenants, and making things a little better for them, if I can, will you?”
“I forbid all interference,” he answered, in a tone that made her feel that he relished the exercise of his power. “You can safely leave the affairs of my tenants to me. They have fared sufficiently well in my hands so far.”
At one time these words and tones would have provoked a sharp retort, but Bettina had so far changed since the early months of her marriage that the thoughts of her own wrongs and indignities were now less insistent than the troubles of these poor people, which she had hoped to be able to alleviate.
“Oh, indeed you are mistaken!” she said, urgently. “You do not know how much they need what a very little money and effort would supply them with. Don’t refuse to let me help them. It is a thing so near to my heart.”
She saw his face grow harder.
“It is also,” he said, “near my pocket. Going in for charity is all very well, if it amuses you, and I did not interfere with your doing so in London. Here, however, it is different. The time has come to stop it.”