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Updated: May 19, 2025
After landing, they walked in silence towards Chelsea Bridge. 'Now I must go quickly home, said Monica. 'But how? 'By train from York Road to Walworth Road. Widdowson cast a curious glance at her. One would have imagined that he found something to disapprove in this ready knowledge of London transit. 'I will go with you to the station, then.
Downstairs, in the library, half a dozen people found the quietness they preferred, and among these was Mrs. Widdowson. She had an album of portraits on her lap; whilst turning them over, she listened to a chat going on between the sprightly Mr. Bevis and a young married woman who laughed ceaselessly at his jokes. It was only a few minutes since she had come down from the drawing-room.
It's very sad. I must bear up under it. The worst of it is, I am naturally subject to depression. In solitude I sink, sink. But the subject is too painful. Don't let us darken the last hours with such reflections. Widdowson retained his indulgent opinion of the facetious young wine merchant. He even laughed now and then in recalling some phrase or other that Bevis had used to him.
Is not this a strange, a brutal thing? Widdowson had never before reached this height of speculation. In the moment, by the very fact, of admitting that Monica and he ought not to be living together, he became more worthy of his wife's companionship than ever hitherto. Well, he would exercise greater forebearance. He would endeavour to win her respect by respecting the freedom she claimed.
She belonged to an obscure branch of a house that culminated in an obscure baronetcy; penniless and ambitious, she had to thank her imposing physique for rescue at a perilous age, and though despising Mr. Luke Widdowson for his plebeian tastes, she shrewdly retained the good-will of a husband who seemed no candidate for length of years.
Without another look Monica went quickly down the stairs; she appreciated his motive for not accompanying her to the exit. Before entering the house she had managed to conceal the sheet of music which she was carrying. But, happily, Widdowson was still absent. Half an hour passed half an hour of brooding and reverie before she heard his footstep ascending the stairs.
He knew that his courage would not sustain him through such a task as this. 'For scandal I care nothing, was her reply. 'One way or another I will leave the house. 'Where are you going? 'To my sister's. His hand on the door, Widdowson stood as if determined in opposition. But her will was stronger than his.
A visit she paid to Mildred Vesper, after her call at Miss Barfoot's, prolonged itself so that she did not reach home until the dinner-hour was long past. On arriving, she was met with an outburst of tremendous wrath, to which she opposed a resolute and haughty silence; and since then the two had kept as much apart as possible. Widdowson knew that Monica was going to the Academy.
Widdowson, she learnt from the servant, had left home about an hour since. 'Is Mr. Widdowson at home? Yes, he was. And Rhoda waited for some time in the drawing-room until he made his appearance. Of late Widdowson had grown so careless in the matter of toilet, that an unexpected visit obliged him to hurry through a change of apparel before he could present himself.
I had better go and see Virgie to-morrow morning, and bring her back for dinner. 'If you like, Widdowson assented slowly. 'But why not send a message, and ask her to come here? 'I had rather go. It makes a change for me. This was a word Widdowson detested. Change, on Monica's lips, always seemed to mean a release from his society.
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