Heavens! That a man should have such power over the lives of others!
She passed the most wretched day of her whole life. She saw in anticipation the happiness of that household broken up. She pictured his coming, but she could not picture his departure. For she had never seen him baffled and defeated.
He would come in, big, burly, with his farmer-like manner confident, bullying, masterful. He would ask her what she had done; he would swear at her when he learned that she had done nothing; he would throw himself into the most comfortable chair, stretch out his legs, and order her to go and fetch Mr. Mountjoy. Would she be subdued by him as of old? Would she find the courage to stand up to him? For the sake of Iris—yes. For the sake of the man who had been so kind to her—yes.
In the evening, the two women—Mrs. Vimpany and Fanny—were seated in the housekeeper's room. Both had work in their laps: neither was doing any work. The autumnal day had been boisterous; the wind was getting higher.
"What are you thinking of?" asked Fanny.
"I was thinking of my husband. If he were to come back, Fanny—if he were to threaten—"
"You would loose my tongue—you would let me speak?"
"Yes; for her sake. I would have shielded him once—-if I could. But not now. I know, at last, that there is no single good thing left in him."
"You have heard from him. I saw the letter this morning, in the box. I knew the handwriting. I have been waiting for you to speak."
"Hush! Yes, Fanny; I have heard from him. He wants money. He will come here to-morrow morning, and will threaten Mr. Mountjoy. Keep your mistress in her own room. Persuade her to lie in bed—anything."