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Updated: May 19, 2025
Have you have you ventured to tell her? 'No, that I haven't. I want you to do that You shall go and see them to-morrow, as it's Sunday. 'Oh, the delight! Alice won't be able to contain herself. We always said the day would come. 'You won't have any more anxieties, Virgie. You can take the school or not, as you like. Mr. Widdowson
It was the end of one more acute stage in their progressive discord. By keeping at home for a fortnight. Monica soothed her husband and obtained some repose for her own nerves. But she could no longer affect a cordial reconciliation; caresses left her cold, and Widdowson saw that his company was never so agreeable to her as solitude. When they sat together, both were reading.
Widdowson had become irresponsive; he doubted at length whether she was listening to him, so, as Miss Haven stepped this way, he took an opportunity of a word aside with his cousin. 'Miss Nunn not at home? 'No. Won't be till dinner-time. 'Quite well? 'Never was better. Would you care to come back and dine with us at half-past seven? 'Of course I should.
People get mixed up so, it seems. You couldn't live by yourself. You have to eat at public tables, and you'd have all sorts of people trying to make acquaintance with Mrs. Widdowson. They're a queer lot, I believe. He abandoned the thought, at once and utterly. When Monica learnt this he gave only vague and unsatisfactory reasons she fell back into her despondent mood.
Widdowson congratulated himself on having taken this step; it was like a revival of his honeymoon; never since their settling down at home had Monica been so grateful, so affectionate. Why, his wife was what he had thought her from the first, perfect in every wifely attribute.
When it was told him that she had ceased to breathe, he rose and went into his own chamber, death-pale, but tearless. On the day after the funeral Monica was buried in the cemetery, which is hard by the old church Widdowson and the elder sister had a long conversation in private. It related first of all to the motherless baby.
Widdowson plucked at his grizzled beard and fingered his watch-chain. It was a temptation. Why not take her away to some place where only foreigners and strangers would be about them? Yet the enterprise alarmed him. 'I have never been out of England, he said, with misgiving. 'All the more reason why we should go. I think Miss Barfoot could advise us about it.
I suppose my coachman will find the place. There was an awkward silence. Widdowson was about to say something to Monica, when Mrs. Luke, who had again closely observed the girl through the glasses, interposed in a gentle tone. 'Do you like this neighbourhood, Miss Madden? Monica gave the expected answer, her voice sounding very weak and timid by comparison.
Monica sighed. 'Oh, that word Duty! Pained unutterably, Widdowson bent forward and took her hand. He spoke in a tone of the gravest but softest rebuke. She was giving entertainment to thoughts that would lead her who knew whither, that would undermine her happiness, would end by making both of them miserable. He besought her to put all such monstrous speculations out of her mind.
With perfect self-command Miss Nunn rose and stepped forward. Barfoot, rising more slowly, looked with curiosity at the husband of the pretty, black-browed woman whom he had already met. Widdowson surprised and amused him. How had this stiff, stern fellow with the grizzled beard won such a wife? Not that Mrs. Widdowson seemed a remarkable person, but certainly it was an ill-assorted union.
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