Grizel made an eloquent gesture.
“Hundreds! Thousands! Do you suppose you are the only woman who has met the right man too late? Do you suppose you are the only woman who has the decency to keep to her bond? There are thousands of them! You meet them in every street. But they are silent. It’s the other women you hear of,—the women who fill the divorce courts; the women who don’t stay at home, and do their duty...”
“As I am doing mine!” sighed Cassandra again. Then suddenly the colour flew to her face. “There’s one thing, Grizel, that I cannot face, and that is being here for the marriage. Think of the fuss and commotion—all the town agog, flags out of the windows, the church bells ringing... They’ll ring them at Beston, too, at his old church... Grizel.—I could not endure those bells.”
“You won’t hear them. We’re going away. I’ve planned it all, and you’ve nothing to do but to obey. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown,” announced Grizel, with a smirk. “Poor young wife! So sad. Ordered abroad, and her husband absolutely tied at home: obliged to finish a book. Lady Cassandra has taken her. Some sort of retreat, they say. Sounds very suspicious,—but she always was excitable! Pitiful for him, poor man! His second wife!”
“Grizel! How can you?” In spite of herself Cassandra was laughing now. “But you are a darling. It would be salvation. If I were at home I should be obliged to go to the wedding, which would be torture for myself, and they would be happier without me! Oh, let us go, do let us go! I’d be so thankful...”
“We are going. There’s no doubt about that, but it’s as well to be prepared for emergencies. Do you think the Squire will object.”
“Oh no. Not now. He’ll be quite pleased. I have an idea, Grizel, that his mother said something to him about me before she died. She knew I was unhappy, I could see it in her eyes, and ever since he has been more,—how shall I put it?—not affectionate, that’s over,—more human, shall we say? He doesn’t take me quite so much for granted. It occasionally enters his head that I’m not very strong. He would be quite willing for me to have a change, even without the excuse of your breakdown. Poor young wife! ... And where is the Retreat?”
“In France. In Normandy. It’s a convent, my dear, where they take a few pensionnaires, but I’ll arrange that there shall be no one there but ourselves. I’ve been before when I needed a rest,—not the bodily I, but the other bit, whatever you choose to call it, the bit that feels! Being a good Protestant I should logically hate convents. As a solid fact, I get more good in this particular one than anywhere else in the world. The nuns are so sweet; they have such selfless, crystalline, child-hearts. After you have been with them a few days, some of their calm begins to steal into your own heart, and the fret to die out. You feel such a long, long way from the outside world, that you look at everything from a new perspective. It came upon me with quite a shock that all my trouble had been about myself! ... My own waiting, my own loss. But these sweet things have buried self... Oh, it does one good, Cassandra, and the regular Spartan life, the bare floors, the exquisite, exquisite, cleanliness,—it’s all a tonic and an inspiration. It’s not dull either; don’t think that it’s dull! I take my prettiest clothes, and an assortment of selected jokes. They love ’em, the dear things! I believe they love me too.”
“I’m quite sure of that.”
“Well!” Grizel smirked complacently, “so am I. To tell you the truth I’m a tonic to them, so I give as much as I take. They do me good, and I shock them, so we’re both happy. The Reverend Mother once felt it her duty to reprove me, but her eyes danced, so I went steadfastly on, and did it again.”