Laura feared no reproaches from this old friend in her hour of misery. He might be prosy, perhaps, and show himself incapable of grappling a difficulty; but he would shoot no barbed arrow of scorn or contumely against that wounded heart. She felt secure in the assurance of his compassion.
‘My dear, this is a very sad case,’ he said, after he had seated himself by her side, and patted her hand, and hummed and hawed gently for a minute or so. ‘You mustn’t be down-hearted, my dear Laura; you mustn’t give way; but it really is a very sad affair; such complications—such difficulties on every side—one scarcely knows how to contemplate such a position. Imagine such a gentlemanly young fellow as John Treverton married to a French ballet-dancer—a—French—dancer!’ repeated the Vicar, dwelling on the lady’s nationality, as if that deepened the degradation. ‘If my poor old friend could have known I am sure he would have made a very different will. He would have left everything to you, no doubt.’
‘Indeed, he would not!’ cried Laura, almost indignantly. ‘You forget that he had made a vow against that.’
‘My dear, a vow of that kind could have been evaded without being broken. My dear old friend would never have bequeathed his fortune to a young man capable of marrying a French opera dancer.’
‘Why should we dwell upon that hateful marriage?’ said Laura. ‘If—if—my husband was not free to marry me at the time of our first marriage—in Hazlehurst Church—we must surrender the estate. That is only common honesty. We are both quite willing to do it. You and Mr. Sampson have only to take up your trusts for the hospital.’
‘My dear, you talk as lightly of surrendering fourteen thousand a year as if it were nothing. You have no power to realize your loss. You have lived in this house ever since you can remember—mistress of all its comforts and luxuries. You have no idea what life is like on the outside of it.’
‘I know that I could live with my husband happily in any house, so long as we had clear consciences.’
‘My love, have you considered what a pittance your poor little income would be? Two hundred and sixty pounds a year for two people, at the present price of provisions; and one of the two an extravagant young man.’
‘My husband is not extravagant. He has known poverty, and can live on very little. Besides, he has talents, and will earn money. He is not going to fold his hands, and bewail his loss of fortune.’
‘My dearest Laura, I shudder at the thought of your facing life upon a pittance, you who have never known the want of money.’