Winnie thought it was a long time before Aunt Agatha came, softly, tremulously, to her door, but in reality it was but a few minutes. He had come in, and had taken matters with a high hand, and had demanded to see his wife. “He will think it is we who are keeping you away from him. He will not believe you do not want to come,” said poor Aunt Agatha, at the door.
“Nothing shall induce me to see him,” said Winnie, admitting her. “I told you so: nothing in the world—not if he were to go down on his knees—not if he were——”
“My dear love, I don’t think he means to go down on his knees,” said Aunt Agatha, anxiously. “He does not think he is in the wrong. Oh, Winnie, my darling!—if it was only for the sake of other people—to keep them from talking, you know——”
“Aunt Agatha, you are mistaken if you think I care,” said Winnie. “As for Mary’s friends, they are old-fashioned idiots. They think a woman should shut herself up like an Eastern slave when her husband is not there. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. And he—Oh, if you knew how he had insulted me!—Oh, if you only knew! I tell you I will not consent to see him, for nothing in this world.”
Winnie was a different woman as she spoke. She was no longer the worn and faded creature she had been. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks glowing. It was a clouded and worn magnificence, but still it was a return to her old splendour.
“Oh, Winnie, my dear love, you are fond of him in spite of all,” said Aunt Agatha. “It will all come right, my darling, yet. You are fond of each other in spite of all.”
“You don’t know what you say,” said Winnie, in a blaze of indignation.—“Fond of him!—if you could but know! Tell him to think of how we parted. Tell him I will never more trust myself near him again.”
It was with this decision, immovable and often repeated, that Miss Seton at last returned to her undesired guest. But she sent for Mary to come and speak to her before she went into the drawing-room. Aunt Agatha was full of schemes and anxious desires. She could not make people do what was right, but if she could so plot and manage appearances as that they should seem to do what was right, surely that was better than nothing. She sent for Mrs. Ochterlony into the dining-room, and she began to take out the best silver, and arrange the green finger-glasses, to lose no time.
“What is the use of telling all the world of our domestic troubles?” said Aunt Agatha. “My dear, though Winnie will not see him, would it not be better to keep him to dinner, and show that we are friendly with him all the same? So long as he is with us, nobody is to know that Winnie keeps in her own room. After the way these people behaved to the poor dear child——”
“They were very foolish and ill-bred,” said Mary; “but it was because she had herself been foolish, not because she was away from her husband: and I don’t like him to be with my boys.”