“You have not given yourself much trouble to look after me,” said Nancy. “No, I am not ready. I don’t mean to go.”
“What does she mean?” he said with a tremble in his voice, turning to Mrs. Bates.
“Oh, Arthur, I don’t know what she means. She is as hot-tempered and as contrary as possible. She takes up things quite wrong. You never meant to drive her away, did you? You had not thought of leaving her—tell her for heaven’s sake! She will not listen to me.”
There was no one in the parlour but Mrs. Bates and Sarah Jane. It was a night when the tax-collector was busy adding up one of his lists of defaulters, and it was the same party which had witnessed the dispute of the morning which was assembled now. That was one reason of the sudden quiet; the other was, the awe and horror that had come over the family at Nancy’s obstinate resolution to stay at home, and return to her husband no more—a resolution which he had divined, and which had weighed on him for the whole day.
“I—leave her!” said Arthur, “what did I say that looked like leaving her? Nancy, come home. I have been very unhappy, not knowing why you stayed away from me, and now I have something to consult you about. Come home.”
“I am at home,” said Nancy, sullenly. “It is no use talking. I have taken my resolution. Go away, Arthur, as you said, I mean to stay here.”
“What does she mean?” he cried in dismay.
“Oh! I mean what I say. You told me you were going. You said I might come if I pleased. I—who hate strangers—I, after all the slights you’ve brought upon me! but that any how you were going. I’ve left for good and all. Mother can go and pack up the things, and dismiss the servants, and leave you free; but one word’s enough to me, Arthur, you shall never have occasion to say another. I don’t budge from here unless mother turns me out. And as soon as you please, you can go.”
They all looked at each other—the others pale, Nancy red with excitement and passion.
“You don’t mean this, Nancy,” Arthur said. “You cannot mean, for a hasty word, to forsake me; it is not possible. A hasty word! how many have you said to me. Come—come, you are angry; but how little there is to be angry about! We have had more serious discussions before,” he added with a faint smile, “and you have said much worse things to me.”