About an hour later he drew on his coat and came in, and brushed down his trousers and washed his hands.
Mrs. Birdwood lurked about watching. He went out at the front door, passed into the street, and disappeared. Mrs. Birdwood drew on her cloak, adjusted a hat, and followed.
She had hardly reached the gate before she saw Josiah turn in at a door to a shop some way up the street, over which was inscribed: “Thomas: Milliner and Dressmaker.”
“The die is cast. Flaunting his vices in the face of his wife! I, too, can be vicious. If he goes hunting dressmakers, I—even I—can seek commercial travellers.”
She set her lips. Her eyes glared. Her face was terrible in its wrath.
She hastened to retrace her steps, gathered together a few of her most valued and necessary goods, and left the house.
“There!” said she, slamming the iron gate after her. “There! Two can play at this game. If he deserts me, I also can desert him. Good-bye to Jessamine Villa! Oh that I had married a commercial!”
She took her way to the station. “Let me see,” said she; “I’ll go a-junketing to the seaside and enjoy myself. Happily I have money; he gave me enough to pay the monthly bills. Won’t he be surprised when he comes back from Finching to find me flown! Yes—I’ll go to Sandbourne and enjoy the sea breezes, and pick up shells and seaweeds, and look at the visitors, and perhaps a commercial or two may flit past my admiring eyes. Their manners are so elegant; they have such persuasive ways; their address is so engaging!”
Furnished with a ticket, she got into a second-class carriage. She was about to enjoy herself, so she would not go third—and she had money to spend.
There was a gentleman in the carriage. He had been seeing a number of large black boxes put into the luggage van. He took his seat after Mrs. Birdwood had ensconced herself in a corner, hoping to have a carriage to herself.