Lord Frogmore in his trouble ignored this speech. “You should not be punctilious,” he said, walking about the long room with short agitated steps. “It may be a matter of life and death. You should not stand upon a point of honor. You should make every effort to understand what your dear sister says.”
And it was by a sort of pitiful understanding between them that Agnes said no more. He knew as well as she did that poor Mary’s whispered communications were unintelligible—but he would not allow it to be said. He preferred to blame someone for an exaggerated point of honor in not listening, not understanding. Such voluntary miscomprehensions are among the most piteous subterfuges of despair.
It cannot be supposed that Mary’s condition and the sad change in the house could be long ignored by Letitia, whose very faculty was on the alert to know what, if anything, had followed her last dreadful attempt against the unfortunate mother of the heir. Letitia was as yet inexperienced in what may be called crime. She had never, as has been said, knowingly assailed the life or reason of a fellow creature before—and she had not had any certainty that her attempt would be successful. It was not exactly like a knife or a revolver. Letitia was very well aware that such operations as she had carried out upon Mary would not in the least have affected herself—and, therefore, she felt herself justified in ignoring the possibility of serious harm. But when the news was brought to her, whispered with bated breath, that Lady Frogmore’s mind was affected, indeed, that she was mad which was the succinct way of stating the matter, Letitia was so much startled and horrified that she cried—which did her great good with her husband. John had been uneasy at the vehemence of his wife’s hatred of Mary in her new exaltation, and when he saw her suddenly burst into most real tears, his good heart was touched and he felt that he had been doing her injustice. He got up from his seat in his compunction and went to his wife and caressed and soothed her. “You must go over and inquire, Letitia,” he said. And once more Letitia was so moved by genuine horror, that, anxious though she was to know everything, she held back from doing this.
“Oh, John,” she said, “I did perhaps say something that was too strong when I knew what her schemings had come to. They might not like me to go.”
“I have always told you, Letitia, I did not think there was any scheming about it. But anyhow Frogmore would be pleased—he would see that we bear no malice. Of course, I felt it at the first just as you did,” said the unconscious John.
“The child,” said Letitia, “is very delicate, too.” She could not help stealing a glance at John under her eyelids to see whether he would respond.
“Poor people!” said John, “or rather poor old Frogmore, to put off so long and then have such a sad time of it. I’m very sorry for the poor old fellow.”
“He had no right to do anything of the kind,” Letitia cried.
“Well, it was hard upon us,” said John with a sigh: “but I’ve made up my mind to it now. You had better go over to-morrow and ask how she is.”
Letitia was very eager to go to see with her own eyes what was the condition of affairs, but yet it was not without difficulty that she persuaded herself to return to the house where her last visit had been so disastrous. It was now September, and the days were beginning to get short, but this time she took no bag, nor had she the least intention of staying over the night. An hour would be enough, she thought, to hear all she wanted and see what she could. But her sense of guilt would not be subdued as she approached the house and remembered how she had fled away from it six weeks before, having done all the harm that it was possible to do. She had no intention now of doing any harm; oh, no, no! only to inquire and if practicable see for herself what prospect of sanity there was for Mary or life for her boy. When she met in her progress up the avenue in the fly she had hired at the station the little pathetic group above described, the nurse carrying the infant and Lord Frogmore marching melancholy at its side, she hurriedly stopped and sprang out, feeling that Lord Frogmore was likely to be more easily dealt with than Agnes, whose feminine instincts would divine her object. But Letitia did not find that a very gracious reception awaited her. Lord Frogmore looked out with a little irritation as the cab drew up. He evidently thought a visitor an impertinence. When he was compelled by his sister-in-law’s eager and excessively affectionate accost to stop in his walk and speak to her, a gleam of angry light came into his eyes. “Oh, it is you, Mrs. John!” he said.