There is a respite of a few moments; but when Mrs. Prince’s next sentence appears it is in the nature of a comment that makes her companion regret the questions that have preceded it.
“In any other case one would have said that it looked almost like suicide; but, of course, in his, that is absolutely out of the question.”
“Absolutely!”
“How did you hear the details?—not from Lavinia?”
“My husband went down to Rivers Sutton Station last night, after—after Rupert had been brought home, and saw the engine-driver and fireman.”
“Dear me! how shocking!” The ejaculation is not one particularly apposite to the special fact recorded; but at least it needs no answer, nor do the sincere tears that follow it, nor the struggle with a pince-nez, which refuses to remain riding upon a nose which is being blown. “And Sir George! Poor man, in his state of health too! I suppose he is quite crushed, stunned?”
The catechism has recommenced; but to this question, at least, the answer is easy and readily given.
“Do you know what he said to me just now, when he came out of Rupert’s room to speak to me?” Mrs. Darcy asks, her wan face lit by a strange shining in the fagged eyes. “He said, ‘No one can say that I have not had two brave sons!’”
“No one can say that I have not had two brave sons!” repeats Mrs. Prince, with an accent of stupefaction. “He took it that way? Well, I am afraid we all have been rather in the habit of taking poor Rupert for somewhat of a muff!”
The other turns away, writhing at having her own thought translated into the brutality of words. Who has held Rupert so cheaply as she? During the enormous hours of the so-called short summer night, how many slighting words and contemptuous thoughts have risen upon her remorseful memory? She has always, always belittled him; always sought to set him lower in the esteem of her for whose love he has served through so many unobtrusive years. Always, always, except—thank God, that there is an except—on that last day in the kitchen garden—is it possible that it was only the day before yesterday?—she had taken his part, had spoken up for him—had done him some tardy justice! To her over-wrought feelings—unbalanced by sleeplessness and shock—the thought of that one half-hour seems to be all that can make it possible to her to endure herself!