“You were old friends, then?” in some surprise, for he had never said as much to her before.
“Yes,” he returned, reluctantly, for he had not meant to admit this fact.
“But quarrels can be made up, Hugh; if it be only a misunderstanding, surely it could be put right.” But he silenced her somewhat haughtily.
“This is my affair, Fay—it is not like you to go against my wishes in this way; what can a child like you know about it? I should have thought a wife would have been willing to be guided by her husband, but you seem to think you know best.”
“Oh, no, Hugh”—very much ashamed at this—“I am quite sure you are always right; only”—hesitating a little as though she feared to offend him—“I should like you to tell me what the quarrel was about.”
For a moment Sir Hugh remained absolutely dumb with surprise; it was as though a dove had flown in his face; he had never known Fay persistent before. If only she had asserted herself from the beginning of their married life, she would have gained more influence over her husband; if she had entrenched herself in her wifely dignity, and refused to be treated like a child, kept in the dark about everything, and petted, or civilly snubbed according to her husband’s moods, she would have won his confidence by this time.
Sir Hugh was quite conscious that he had been guilty of a grievous error in not telling Fay about Margaret before she became his wife; he wished he had done so from the bottom of his heart; but procrastination made the duty a far more difficult one; he felt it would be so awkward to tell her now, he could not tell how she might take it: it might make her unhappy, poor little thing; it would be a pity to dim her brightness.
He was sheltering his moral weakness under these plausible excuses, but somehow they failed to satisfy his conscience. He knew he had done a mean thing to marry Fay when his heart was solely and entirely Margaret’s; what sort of blessing could attach to such a union?
But when Fay begged him to tell her the cause of his estrangement from the Ferrers, he positively shrunk from, the painful ordeal—he was not fit for it, he told himself, his nerves were disorganized, and Fay looked far from well; some day he would tell her, but not now; and the old sharpness was in his voice as he answered her.
“I can not tell you; you should not tease me so, Fay. I think you might have a little faith in your husband.”