Mr. Germaine’s projects of economy were at this moment interrupted by the sudden entrance of his wife. Her eyes flashing with anger, she walked with the proud air of an enraged tragedy queen across the room, seated herself upon a sofa, and, in a voice which trembled with ill-suppressed rage, said, “I am to thank you, Mr. Germaine, for the many obliging things you have said of me this last hour! I have heard them all! You are under a mistake, sir, if you imagine I have been hitherto your dupe. You have never imposed upon me for a moment. I have suspected, this twelvemonth, that you kept a mistress: and now I am happy to have the truth confirmed from your own lips. But I deserve all that has happened! I am justly treated! Weak woman, to marry as I did! No gentleman, sir, would have behaved or would have spoken as you have done! Could not you have been content with ruining yourself and your family, Mr. Germaine, by your profligate low tastes, without insulting me by base reflections upon my temper, and downright falsehoods about my age? No gentleman, sir, would have treated me as you have done. I am the most miserable of women!”
Passion choked her utterance, and she fell back in a violent fit of hysterics. Mr. William Darford was much shocked at this matrimonial scene. The lady had caught hold of his arm, in one of her convulsive motions; and she held it so fast that he could not withdraw. Charles stood in silent dismay. His conscience smote him; and though he could not love his wife, he blamed himself for having rendered her “the most miserable of women.” “Leave her to me, Charles,” said Mr. Darford, “and I will endeavour to set matters to rights.”
Charles shook his head, and left the room. Mrs. Germaine by degrees recovered herself; for a hysteric fit cannot last for ever. She cast her eyes round the room, and exclaimed, “He has done well to leave me! Oh, that it were for ever! Oh, that we had never met! But may I ask why Mr. William Darford is here? My own servant—my own maid, should have been summoned to attend me. We have servants still, sir; and, humbled as I am, I see no necessity for submitting to have cool spectators of our family distresses and family quarrels.”
“Believe me, madam,” said Mr. Darford, “I am not a cool spectator of either. I do not wish to recal {sic} disagreeable things, but to obtain the right of speaking to you of your affairs as a friend. Permit me to remind you that, when I could not guess you heard me, I defended your interests.”
“Really, sir, you spoke so low that I did not distinctly hear what you said; and my feelings were so much hurt, by all I heard from Mr. Germaine, who spoke loud enough, that I attended to nothing else. Upon recollection, I do, however, remember you made some offer to get Mr. Germaine out of his present embarrassments, upon condition that he would break off all connexion with this girl, whom nobody knows; or rather whom every body knows too well.”
“And was not this offer of mine some proof, Mrs. Germaine, that I wish your happiness?”
“Why, really, Mr. Darford, having lived in the world as I have done from my childhood, I am not apt to expect much friendship from any one, especially from people in the habits of calculation; and I have been so much deceived where I have unguardedly trusted to the friendship and love of a man brought up in that sort of way, that you must forgive me if I could not bring my mind to think you had any concern for my happiness in the offer you made. I did indeed suppose it would be a mortifying circumstance to you, to see your cousin quite ruined by this infamous creature. I say, I did imagine you would be shocked at seeing your cousin sent to jail. That, you know, is a thing discreditable to a whole family, let it be of what sort it may. From your kindness to our children, I see you consider us as relations. Every human being, I do suppose, has some family pride in their own way.”
“I own I have a great deal of family pride, in my own way, madam,” replied Mr. Darford, with a calm smile; “I am proud, for instance, of having, and of being able to maintain in perfect independence, a number of good and affectionate children, and a wife, whose good sense and sweetness of temper constitute the happiness of my existence!”
Mrs. Germaine coloured, threw back her head, and strove to conceal the anguish of her conscience. William was sorry he had inflicted pain, but he saw that the only way to make himself understood in this conversation, was to assert that real superiority of character to which, in certain situations, the factitious pretensions of rank or fashion never fail to yield.
“You are at liberty, Mrs. Germaine,” continued William, “to interpret my offers and my actions as you think proper; but you will, when you are cool, observe that neither I nor any of my family have any thing to gain from you or yours; not even a curtsy or a bow, in public places; for we do not frequent them. We live retired, and have no connexion with fine people; we preserve our own independence by confining ourselves to our own station in life; and by never desiring to quit it, nor to ape those who are called our betters. From what I have just heard you say, I think it possible you may have formed the idea that we invited your children to our house with the selfish supposition that the connexion, I believe that is the fashionable phrase, might be advantageous to our own. But this is quite a mistake. Our children will live as we do: they have no idea of forming high connexions, because they have been taught not to think them necessary to happiness. I assure you it is not my habit to talk so much of myself and of mine; but I thought it best to explain the truth to you at once, as this was the only way to gain your confidence, and as we have neither of us time to spare.”