“If you mean to have your own way in everything, then,” retorted Basil, “you had better put in your list that you will have to live without me.”
“That would be no loss—a decided gain,” replied Georgina. And thus the battle terminated for the time, only to be resumed the next day about Harry, who, young though he was, should, his father declared, be sent to school forthwith, unless his mother would have him kept out of the stable-yard, and away from the horse’s heels.
“I tell you now what it is,” said Basil, collecting all the men and women servants together, and addressing them en masse, “the first time I find Master Harry in the stables, or out about the grounds anywhere by himself, I will discharge you every one. Take this for notice, for by —— I will keep my word.”
“What a milksop you would make of the boy,” sneered Mrs. Basil Stondon. “What must the servants think of you?”
“They cannot think less of me than I do of myself for ever having been such a cursed fool as to marry you,” retorted Basil. Whereupon one word led, as usual, to more, and the quarrel terminated in Basil flinging a few things into a portmanteau and starting for a friend’s house, as was his wont whenever matrimony and the cares thereof grew too much for him.
Fain would Phemie have followed his example and taken flight also, but Georgina entreated her so earnestly to remain, that Mrs. Stondon yielded, and wrote to her uncle not to expect her at Roundwood for a week or ten days.
“Now I hope to heaven,” was Mr. Aggland’s secret thought, “she is not getting too fond of that place again, nor of its owner.” And his hope was fulfilled.
Phemie had grown perfectly sick of the place, but she stayed on as a matter of kindness to Georgina, and perhaps, also, with some faint hope of opening the misguided woman’s eyes, and making his home more comfortable for Basil.
“It is of no use talking,” remarked Georgina, one morning; “he ought to have married you, that is the whole secret of the affair, and—and——” She turned her head sharply away, and Phemie heard her sob. She had packed the cards, she had won all she asked for, and this was the result—a wretched home, a neglectful husband, a cat and dog existence. How could Phemie help—spite of all the misery Georgina had wrought her—feeling sorry for the unhappy wife?
“You might surely make a better thing of your life still,” she said, gently, “if you would only agree to bear and forbear; if you would only bring up Harry as his father wishes; if you would only just try for a little time, the effect of meeting his views instead of thwarting them, I am certain you might be a great deal more comfortable. I am confident Basil would pay back every concession with interest.”