And now there was a pause while each, fearing that the other might not desire reunion, hesitated to propose it; and so, each one waiting for the other to say the word, both left it unsaid. When the talk was finally renewed, it was with a return of the former constraint.
She asked us, with a little stiffness of manner, when we had come to London; which led to our relation, between us, of all that had passed since her departure from New York. She opened her eyes at the news of our residence in Hampstead, and lost her embarrassment in her glad, impulsive acceptance of my invitation to come and see us as soon as possible. While Philip and she still kept their distance, as it were, I knew not how far to go in cordiality, or I should have pressed her to come and live with us. She wept and laughed, at the prospect of seeing Fanny and my mother, and declared they must visit her in town. And then her tongue faltered as the thought returned of Falconer's probable interference with the quiet and safety of her further residence in London; and her face turned anxious.
"'Faith! you need have no fear on that score," said Philip, quietly. "Where does he live?"
She did not know, but she named a club, and a tavern, from which he had dated importunate letters to her before she left London.
"Well," said Philip, rising, "I shall see a lawyer to-morrow, and you may expect to hear from him soon regarding the settlement I make upon you."
"You are too kind," she murmured. "I have no right to accept it of you."
"Oh, yes, you have. I am always your husband, I tell you; and you will have no choice but to accept. I know not what income you get by acting; but this will suffice if you choose to leave the stage."
"But you?" she replied faintly, rising. "Shall I not see—?"
"I shall leave England in a few days: I don't know how long I shall be abroad. But there will be Bert, and Fanny, and Mrs. Russell—I know you may command them for anything." There was an oppressive pause now, during which she looked at him wistfully, hoping he might at the last moment ask her that, which he waited to give her a final opportunity of asking him. But neither dared, for fear of the other's hesitation or refusal. And so, at length, with a good-bye spoken in an unnatural voice on each side, the two exchanged a hand-clasp, and Philip left the room. She stood pale and trembling, bereft of speech, while I told her that I should wait upon her soon. Then I followed Philip down-stairs and to the street.
"I will stay to-night at Jack's tavern yonder," said he. "I can watch this house, in case that knave should return to annoy her. Go you home—Fanny and your mother will be anxious. And come for me to-morrow at the tavern, as early as you can. You may tell them what you see fit, at home. That's all, I think—'tis very late. Good night!"