"Oh, but Charmian, we can't pack the dear old fellow—"
"The dear old fellow is going by that boat, Claudie."
"But what a tyrant you are!"
"I've been selfish. My keenness about your work has blinded me. Jernington has made me see. We've been two slave-drivers. It can't go on. If he could stay and be different—but he can't. He's a marvel of learning, but he has only one subject—orchestration. You've got to forget that for a little. So Jernington must go. Dear old boy! When I see your pale cheeks and your burning eyes I—I—"
Tears came into her eyes. From beneath the trickster the woman arose. Her own words touched her suddenly, made her understand how Claude had sacrificed himself to his work, and so to her ambition. She got up and turned away.
"Old Jernington shall go by the Maréchal Bugeaud," she said, in a voice that slightly shook.
And by the Maréchal Bugeaud old Jernington did go.
So ingeniously did Charmian manage things that he believed he went of his own accord, indeed that it had been his "idea" to go. She told Claude to leave it to her and not to say one word. Then she went to Jernington, and began to talk of his extraordinary influence over her husband. He soon pulled at his boots, thrust his cuffs up his arms, and showed other unmistakable symptoms of gratification.
"You can do anything with him," she said presently. "I wish I could."
Jernington protested with guttural exclamations.