Yet we were both to blame, Ronald and I. When we had stood at the altar in St. George's Church (where so many wealthier couples had stood before us), we had perfectly realised that we were taking each other for better, for worse. When there is "the little rift within the lute" you may generally conclude that it has been made by two, not by one alone. Patch it up before it widens, deal with the damaged instrument as tenderly as you can, if you want to keep its music. Even if the sounds are never again so sweet as they used to be, they are better than the total silence that makes all life a long regret.
The May daylight lingered long, even on the grey walls of Chapel Place. I sat watching the slow fading of the sunbeams, and starting at every footstep that seemed to pause at the house door. Every knock or ring set all my nerves quivering. Meanwhile, I prepared a hundred little speeches of conciliation, and thought of a hundred little ways of atoning for my unkind words; and the weary hours crawled away, and the stars came out above the great restless London world. Would he never return? Must I watch and wait all through the long night?
Ten o'clock—did the clocks ever make such a dreadful din before? I began to pace my two rooms like a wild creature in its cage; and so another hour went by, and I had to stop, worn-out, and sink into a seat. Eleven. Every stroke fell like a heavy blow upon my brain.
I got up from my chair, hardly knowing what I did, and staggered towards the door with some vague intention of seeking nurse, and asking her what was to be done. But just at that moment, I heard a key turn in the hall door, and then the parlour door was suddenly flung open, and my husband came in. With a cry that I could not repress, I sprang up to him, and put my arms round his neck, hiding my poor worn face on his breast.
"Oh, Ronald," I sobbed, "I have been breaking my heart for you. Forgive my cruel words, and try to love me again!"
He folded me in a close embrace, and answered me with fond murmurs that were more reassuring than a thousand formal sentences. Spent and exhausted as I was, I had seldom, perhaps never, known a happier moment than this. The ecstasy of relief was almost more than I could bear.
"I didn't mean to stay out so late, dear little woman," he said, penitently. "The fact was that I met Greystock, and he asked me to dine with him. It's a long while since I saw him, and we had a good many things to talk about. Altogether, it was a lucky meeting; he is the man to give one a helping hand, you know. But how fearfully white you look, poor child!"
He bent over me with a face full of anxiety. Somehow the mere mention of Greystock's name had an ominous sound in my ears. Even in that moment, I recalled the many plans that had failed;—the seemingly good counsel that had led to no substantial result. In every case William Greystock had been the planner and counsellor, and I could not persuade myself that this meeting with him had been, as my husband thought, a lucky meeting.
But those we love best are precisely the people who can never be made to see with our eyes. I knew that Ronald would not be induced to distrust Greystock at my bidding; and as I was still smarting from the consciousness of having spoken unadvisedly once that day, I would not commit a second blunder. So I owned meekly that I was over-tired and over-worn, and let Ronald soothe me and wait on me to his heart's content.
I slept soundly that night, the heavy sleep of exhaustion, and when I woke the next morning I had aching limbs and a general sense of languor and weakness. Ronald was full of anxiety, and a self-reproach which he would not put into words. It was a rare thing for me to break down, and it troubled him to see the effort I made to get up to breakfast and seem like my old self.