"Why 'must' it be?" she asked. "Where lies the obligation?"
"Nothing would induce me to remain in this house now Harry is gone," he answered. "I wish I was away from it already: the reminiscences connected with it are so painful that I can bear to stay in it for the short while that we must stay. When a blight like this falls upon a family, Sophia, it frequently brings changes in its train."
Mrs. Castlemaine, biting her lips in temper, was not ready with a rejoinder. In the face of this plea, her stepson's death, it would not be decent to say too much. Moreover, though her husband was an excellent man in regard to allowing her full sway in trifles, she knew by experience that when it came to momentous affairs, she might as well attempt to turn the sea as to interfere with his will.
"I like Greylands' Rest," she said. "I have lived in it since you brought me home. Flora was born here. It is very hard to have to hear of leaving it."
Mr. Castlemaine had his back to her, tearing up some papers that were in a drawer of his bureau. It looked exactly as though he were already making preparations for the exit.
"And I expected that this would have been my home for life," she added more angrily, his silence increasing her feelings of rebellion.
"No, you did not expect it," said he, turning round. "I heard my father inform you, the very day after you came here, that Greylands' Rest would descend to his eldest son; not to me."
"It did descend to you," was all she said.
"But it is mine no longer. Harry is gone, and I resign it to my eldest brother's only remaining son."
"It is absurd chivalry even to think of such a thing," she retorted, her lip quivering, her throat swelling. "One would fancy you had taken leave of your senses, James."