Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'It is perhaps better than being a dog,' said Nora; 'but, of course, we
can't compare ourselves to men.'

'It would be better to be a dog. One wouldn't be made to suffer so
much. When a puppy is taken away from its mother, she is bad enough for
a few days, but she gets over it in a week.' There was a pause then for
a few moments. Nora knew well which way ran the current of her sister's
thoughts, and had nothing at the present moment which she could say on
that subject.

'It is very hard for a woman to know what to do,' continued Emily, 'but
if she is to marry, I think she had better marry a fool. After all, a
fool generally knows that he is a fool, and will trust some one, though
he may not trust his wife.'

'I will never wittingly marry a fool,' said Nora.

'You will marry Mr Glascock, of course. I don't say that he is a fool;
but I do not think he has that kind of strength which shows itself in
perversity.'

'If he asked me, I should not have him and he will never ask me.'

'He will ask you, and, of course, you'll take him. Why not? You can't
be otherwise than a woman. And you must marry. And this man is a
gentleman, and will be a peer. There is nothing on earth against him,
except that he does not set the Thames on fire. Louis intends to set
the Thames on fire some day, and see what comes of it.'

'All the same, I shall not marry Mr Glascock. A woman can die, at any
rate,' said Nora.

'No, she can't. A woman must be decent; and to die of want is very
indecent. She can't die, and she mustn't be in want, and she oughtn't
to be a burden. I suppose it was thought necessary that every man
should have two to choose from; and therefore there are so many more of
us than the world wants. I wonder whether you'd mind taking that
downstairs to his table? I don't like to send it by the servant; and I
don't want to go myself.'

Then Nora had taken the letter down, and left it where Louis Trevelyan
would be sure to find it.

He did find it, and was sorely disappointed when he perceived that it
contained no word from his wife to himself. He opened Colonel Osborne's
note, and read it, and became, as he did so, almost more angry than
before. Who was this man that he should dare to address another man's
wife as 'Dear Emily'? At the moment Trevelyan remembered well enough
that he had heard the man so call his wife, that it had been done
openly in his presence, and had not given him a thought. But Lady
Rowley and Sir Marmaduke had then been present also; and that man on
that occasion had been the old friend of the old father, and not the
would-be young friend of the young daughter. Trevelyan could hardly
reason about it, but felt that whereas the one was not improper, the
other was grossly impertinent and even wicked. And then, again, his
wife, his Emily, was to show to him, to her husband, or was not to show
to him, the letter which she received from this man, the letter in
which she was addressed as 'Dear Emily,' according to this man's
judgment and wish, and not according to his judgment and wish not
according to the judgment and wish of him who was her husband, her
lord, and her master! 'Of course, you will tell T. now.' This was
intolerable to him. It made him feel that he was to be regarded as
second, and this man to be regarded as first. And then he began to
recapitulate all the good things he had done for his wife, and all the
causes which he had given her for gratitude. Had he not taken her to
his bosom, and bestowed upon her the half of all that he had, simply
for herself, asking for nothing more than her love? He had possessed
money, position, a name all that makes life worth having. He had found
her in a remote corner of the world, with no fortune, with no
advantages of family or social standing so circumstanced that any
friend would have warned him against such a marriage; but he had given
her his heart, and his hand, and his house, and had asked for nothing
in return but that he should be all in all to her that he should be her
one god upon earth. And he had done more even than this. 'Bring your
sister,' he had said. 'The house shall be big enough for her also, and
she shall be my sister as well as yours.' Who had ever done more for a
woman, or shown a more absolute confidence? And now what was the return
he received? She was not contented with her one god upon earth, but
must make to herself other gods another god, and that too out of a lump
of the basest clay to be found around her. He thought that he could
remember to have heard it said in early days, long before he himself
had had an idea of marrying, that no man should look for a wife from
among the tropics, that women educated amidst the languors of those
sunny climes rarely came to possess those high ideas of conjugal duty
and feminine truth which a man should regard as the first requisites of
a good wife. As he thought of all this, he almost regretted that he had
ever visited the Mandarins, or ever heard the name of Sir Marmaduke
Rowley.

He should have nourished no such thoughts in his heart. He had, indeed,
been generous to his wife and to his wife's family; but we may almost
say that the man who is really generous in such matters is unconscious
of his own generosity. The giver who gives the most, gives, and does
not know that he gives. And had not she given too? In that matter of
giving between a man and his wife, if each gives all, the two are
equal, let the things given be what they may! King Cophetua did nothing
for his beggar maid, unless she were to him, after he had married her,
as royal a queen as though he had taken her from the oldest stock of
reigning families then extant. Trevelyan knew all this himself had said
so to himself a score of times, though not probably in spoken words or
formed sentences. But, that all was equal between himself and the wife
of his bosom, had been a thing ascertained by him as a certainty. There
was no debt of gratitude from her to him which he did not acknowledge
to exist also as from him to her. But yet, in his anger, he could not
keep himself from thinking of the gifts he had showered upon her. And
he had been, was, would ever be, if she would only allow it, so true to
her! He had selected no other friend to take her place in his councils!
There was no 'dear Mary' or 'dear Augusta' with whom he had secrets to
be kept from his wife. When there arose with him any question of
interest question of interest such as was this of the return of Sir
Marmaduke to her he would show it in all its bearings to his wife. He
had his secrets too, but his secrets had all been made secrets for her
also. There was not a woman in the world in whose company he took
special delight in her absence.

And if there had been, how much less would have been her ground of
complaint? Let a man have any such friendships what friendships he may
he. does not disgrace his wife. He felt himself to be so true of heart
that he desired no such friendships; but for a man indulging in such
friendships there might be excuse. Even though a man be, false, a woman
is not shamed and brought unto the dust before all the world. But the
slightest rumour on a woman's name is a load of infamy on her husband's
shoulders. It was not enough for Caesar that his wife should be true;
it was necessary to Caesar that she should not even be suspected.
Trevelyan told himself that he suspected his wife of no sin. God forbid
that it should ever come to that, both for his sake and for hers; and,
above all, for the sake of that boy who was so dear to them both! But
there would be the vile whispers, and dirty slanders would be dropped
from envious tongues into envious ears, and minds prone to evil would
think evil of him and of his. Had not Lady Milborough already cautioned
him? Oh, that he should have lived to have been cautioned about his
wife that he should be told that eyes outside had looked into the
sacred shrine of his heart and seen that things there were fatally
amiss! And yet Lady Milborough was quite right. Had he not in his hand
at this moment a document that proved her to be right? 'Dear Emily'! He
took this note and crushed it in his fist and then pulled it into
fragments.

But what should he do? There was, first of all considerations, the duty
which he owed to his wife, and the love which he bore her. That she was
ignorant and innocent he was sure; but then she was so contumacious
that he hardly knew how to take a step in the direction of guarding her
from the effects of her ignorance, and maintaining for her the
advantages of her innocence. He was her master, and she must know that
he was her master. But how was he to proceed when she refused to obey
the plainest and most necessary command which he laid upon her? Let a
man be ever so much his wife's master, he cannot maintain his masterdom
by any power which the law places in his hands. He had asked his wife
for a promise of obedience, and she would not give it to him! What was
he to do next? He could, no doubt at least he thought so keep the man
from her presence. He could order the servant not to admit the man, and
the servant would, doubtless, obey him. But to what a condition would
he then have been brought! Would not the world then be over for him
over for him as the husband of a wife whom he could not love unless he
respected her? Better that there should be no such world, than call in
the aid of a servant to guard the conduct of his wife!

As he thought of it all it seemed to him that if she would not obey
him, and give him this promise, they must be separated. He would not
live with her, he would not give her the privileges of his wife, if she
refused to render to him the obedience which was his privilege. The
more he thought of it, the more convinced he was that he ought not to
yield to her. Let her once yield to him, and then his tenderness should
begin, and there should be no limit to it. But he would not see her
till she had yielded. He would not see her; and if he should find that
she did see Colonel Osborne, then he would tell her that she could no
longer dwell under the same roof with him.

His resolution on these points was very strong, and yet there came over
him a feeling that it was his duty to be gentle. There was a feeling
also that that privilege of receiving obedience, which was so
indubitably his own, could only be maintained by certain wise practices
on his part in which gentleness must predominate. Wives are bound to
obey their husbands, but obedience cannot be exacted from wives, as it
may from servants, by aid of law and with penalties, or as from a
horse, by punishments, and manger curtailments. A man should be master
in his own house, but he should make his mastery palatable, equitable,
smooth, soft to the touch, a thing almost unfelt. How was he to do all
this now, when he had already given an order to which obedience had
been refused unless under certain stipulations an agreement with which
would be degradation to him? He had pointed out to his wife her duty,
and she had said she would do her duty as pointed out, on condition
that he would beg her pardon for having pointed it out! This he could
not and would not do. Let the heavens fall and the falling of the
heavens in this case was a separation between him and his wife but he
would not consent to such injustice as that!

But what was he to do at this moment especially with reference to that
note which he had destroyed. At last he resolved to write to his wife,
and he consequently did write and send to her the following letter:

DEAREST EMILY,

May 4.

If Colonel Osborne should write to you again, it will be better that
you should not open his letter. As you know his handwriting you will
have no difficulty in so arranging. Should any further letter come from
Colonel Osborne addressed to you, you had better put it under cover to
me, and take no notice of it yourself.

I shall dine at the club today. We were to have gone to Mrs Peacock's
in the evening. You had better write a line to say that we shall not be
there. I am very sorry that Nora should lose her evening. Pray think
very carefully over what I have asked of you. My request to you is,
that you shall give me a promise that you will not willingly see
Colonel Osborne again. Of course you will understand that this is not
supposed to extend to accidental meetings, as to which, should they
occur and they would be sure to occur you would find that they would be
wholly unnoticed by me.

But I must request that you will comply with my wish in this matter. If
you will send for me I will go to you instantly, and after one word
from you to the desired effect, you will find that there will be no
recurrence by me to a subject so hateful. As I have done, and am doing
what I think to be right, I cannot stultify myself by saying that I
think I have been wrong.

Yours always, dearest Emily,

With the most thorough love,

Louis Trevelyan.'

This letter he himself put on his wife's dressing-room table, and then
he went out to his club.

CHAPTER VI- SHEWING HOW RECONCILIATION WAS MADE

'Look at that,' said Mrs Trevelyan, when her sister came into her room
about an hour before dinnertime. Nora read the letter, and then asked
her sister what she meant to do. 'I have written to Mrs Peacock. I
don't know what else I can do. It is very hard upon you that you should
have been kept at home. But I don't suppose Mr Glascock would have been
at Mrs Peacock's.'

'And what else will you do, Emily?'

'Nothing simply live deserted and forlorn till he shall choose to find
his wits again. There is nothing else that a woman can do. If he
chooses to dine at his club every day I can't help it. We must put off
all the engagements, and that will be hard upon you.'

'Don't talk about me. It is too terrible to think that there should be
such a quarrel.'

'What can I do? Have I been wrong?'

'Simply do what he tells you, whether it is wrong or right. If it's
right, it ought to be done, and if it's wrong, it will not be your
fault.'

'That's very easily said, and it sounds logical; but you must know it's
unreasonable.'

'I don't care about reason. He is your husband, and if he wishes it you
should do it. And what will be the harm? You don't mean to see Colonel
Osborne any more. You have already said that he's not to be admitted.'

'I have said that nobody is to be admitted. Louis has driven me to
that. How can I look the servant in the face and tell him that any
special gentleman is not to be admitted to see me? Oh dear! oh dear!
have I done anything to deserve it? Was ever so monstrous an accusation
made against any woman! If it were not for my boy, I would defy him to
do his worst.'

On the day following Nora again became a messenger between the husband
and wife, and before dinner-time a reconciliation had been effected. Of
course the wife gave way at last; and of course she gave way so
cunningly that the husband received none of the gratification which he
had expected in her surrender. 'Tell him to come,' Nora had urged. 'Of
course he can come if he pleases,' Emily had replied. Then Nora had
told Louis to come, and Louis had demanded whether, if he did so, the
promise which he exacted would be given. It is to be feared that Nora
perverted the truth a little; but if ever such perversion may be
forgiven, forgiveness was due to her. If they could only be brought
together, she was sure that there would be a reconciliation. They were
brought together, and there was a reconciliation.

'Dearest Emily, I am so glad to come to you,' said the husband, walking
up to his wife in their bed-room, and taking her in his arms.

'I have been very unhappy, Louis, for the last two days,' said she,
very gravely returning his kiss, but returning it somewhat coldly.

'We have both been unhappy, I am sure,' said he. Then he paused that
the promise might be made to him. He had certainly understood that it
was to be made without reserve as an act on her part which she had
fully consented to perform. But she stood silent, with one hand on the
dressing table, looking away from him, very beautiful, and dignified
too, in her manner; but not, as far as he could judge, either repentant
or submissive. 'Nora said that you would make me the promise which I
ask from you.'

'I cannot think, Louis, how you can want such a promise from me.'

'I think it right to ask it; I do indeed.'

'Can you imagine that I shall ever willingly see this gentleman again
after what has occurred? It will be for you to tell the servant. I do
not know how I can do that. But, as a matter of course, I will
encourage no person to come to your house of whom you disapprove. It
would be exactly the same of any man or of any woman.'

'That is all that I ask.'

'I am surprised that you should have thought it necessary to make any
formal request in the matter. Your word was quite sufficient. That you
should find cause of complaint in Colonel Osborne's coming here is of
course a different thing.'

Quite a different thing,' said he.

I cannot pretend to understand either your motives or your fears. I do
not understand them. My own self-respect prevents me from supposing it
to be possible that you have attributed an evil thought to me.'

Indeed, indeed, I never have,' said the husband.

'That I can assure you I regard as a matter of course,' said the wife.

'But you know, Emily, the way in which the world talks.'

'The world! And do you regard the world, Louis?'

'Lady Milborough, I believe, spoke to yourself.'

'Lady Milborough! No, she did not speak to me. She began to do so, but
I was careful to silence her at once. From you, Louis, I am bound to
hear whatever you may, choose to say to me; but I will not hear from
any other lips a single word that may be injurious to your honour.'
This she said very quietly, with much dignity, and he felt that he had
better not answer her. She had given him the promise which he had
demanded, and he began to fear that if he pushed the matter further she
might go back even from that amount of submission. So he kissed her
again, and had the boy brought into the room, and by the time that he
went to dress for dinner he was able, at any rate, to seem to be well
pleased.

'Richard,' he said to the servant, as soon as he was downstairs, 'when
Colonel Osborne calls again, say' that your mistress is not at home.'
He gave the order in the most indifferent tone of voice which he could
assume; but as he gave it he felt thoroughly ashamed of it. Richard,
who, with the other servants, had of course known that there had been a
quarrel between his master and mistress for the last two days, no doubt
understood all about it.

While they were sitting at dinner on the next day, a Saturday, there
came another note from Colonel Osborne. The servant brought it to his
mistress, and she, when she had looked at it, put it down by her plate.
Trevelyan knew immediately from whom the letter had come, and
understood how impossible it was for his wife to give it up in the
servant's presence. The letter lay there till the man was out of the
room, and then she handed it to Nora. 'Will you give that to Louis?'
she said. 'It comes from the man whom he supposes to be my lover.'

'Emily!' said he, jumping from his seat, 'how can you allow words so
horrible and so untrue to fall from your mouth?' 'If it be not so, why
am I to be placed in such a position as this? The servant knows, of
course, from whom the letter comes, and sees that I have been forbidden
to open it.' Then the man returned to the room, and the remainder of
the dinner passed off almost in silence. It was their custom when they
dined without company to leave the dining-room together, but on this
evening Trevelyan remained for a few minutes that he might read Colonel
Osborne's letter, He waited, standing on the rug with his face to the
fire-place, till he was quite alone, and then he opened it. It ran as
follows:

'House of Commons, Saturday.

'DEAR EMILY,' Trevelyan, as he read this, cursed Colonel Osborne
between his teeth.

'DEAR EMILY,

I called this afternoon, but you were out. I am afraid you will be
disappointed by what I have to tell you, but you should rather be glad
of it. They say at the C.O. that Sir Marmaduke would not receive their
letter if sent now till the middle of June, and that he could not be in
London, let him do what he would, till the end of July. They hope to
have the session over by that time, and therefore the committee is to
be put off till next session. They mean to have Lord Bowles home from
Canada, and they think that Bowles would like to be here in the winter.
Sir Marmaduke will be summoned for February next, and will of course
stretch his stay over the hot months. All this will, on the whole, be
for the best. Lady Rowley could hardly have packed up her things and
come away at a day's notice, whatever your father might have done.
I'll call tomorrow at luncheon time.

Yours always,

F. O.'

There was nothing objectionable in this letter excepting always the
'Dear Emily' nothing which it was not imperative on Colonel Osborne to
communicate to the person to whom it was addressed. Trevelyan must now
go upstairs and tell the contents of the letter to his wife. But he
felt that he had created for himself a terrible trouble. He must tell
his wife what was in the letter, but the very telling of it would be a
renewing of the soreness of his wound. And then what was to be done in
reference to the threatened visit for the Sunday morning? Trevelyan
knew very well that were his wife denied at that hour, Colonel Osborne
would understand the whole matter. He had doubtless in his anger
intended that Colonel Osborne should understand the whole matter; but
he was calmer now than he had been then, and almost wished that the
command given by him had not been so definite and imperious. He
remained with his arm on the mantel-piece, thinking of it, for some ten
minutes, and then went up into the drawing-room. 'Emily,' he said,
walking up to the table at which she was sitting, 'you had better read
that letter.'

'I would so much rather not,' she replied haughtily.

'Then Nora can read it. It concerns you both equally.'

Nora, with hesitating hand, took the letter and read it. 'They are not
to come after all,' said she, 'till next February.'

'And why not?' asked Mrs Trevelyan.

'Something about the session. I don't quite understand.'

'Lord Bowles is to come from Canada,' said Louis, 'and they think he
would prefer being here in the winter. I dare say he would.'

'But what has that to do with papa?'

'I suppose they must both be here together,' said Nora.

'I call that very hard indeed,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

'I can't agree with you there,' said her husband. 'His coming at all is
so much of a favour that it is almost a job.'

'I don't see that it is a job at all,' said Mrs Trevelyan. 'Somebody is
wanted, and nobody can know more of the service than papa does. But as
the other man is a lord I suppose papa must give way. Does he say
anything about mamma, Nora?'

'You had better read the letter yourself,' said Trevelyan, who was
desirous that his wife should know of the threatened visit.

'No, Louis, I shall not do that. You must not blow hot and cold too.
Till the other day I should have thought that Colonel Osborne's letters
were as innocent as an old newspaper. As you have supposed them to be
poisoned I will have nothing to do with them.'

This speech made him very angry. It seemed that his wife, who had
yielded to him, was determined to take out the value of her submission
in the most disagreeable words which she could utter. Nora now closed
the letter and handed it back to her brother-in-law. He laid it down on
the table beside him, and sat for a while with his eyes fixed upon his
book. At last he spoke again. 'Colonel Osborne says that he will call
tomorrow at luncheon time. You can admit him, if you please, and thank
him for the trouble he has taken in this matter.'

'I shall not remain in the room if he be admitted,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

There was silence again for some minutes, and the cloud upon
Trevelyan's brow became blacker than before. Then he rose from his
chair and walked round to the sofa on which his wife was sitting. 'I
presume,' said he, 'that your wishes and mine in this matter must be
the same.'

'I cannot tell what your wishes are,' she replied. 'I never was more in
the dark on any subject in my life. My wishes at present are confined
to a desire to save you as far as may be possible from the shame which
must be attached to your own suspicions.'

'I have never had any suspicions.'

'A husband without suspicions does not intercept his wife's letters. A
husband without suspicions does not all in the aid of his servants to
guard his wife. A husband without suspicions.'

'Emily,' exclaimed Nora Rowley, 'how can you say such things on purpose
to provoke him?'

'Yes; on purpose to provoke me,' said Trevelyan.

'And have I not been provoked? Have I not been injured? You say now
that you have not suspected me, and yet in what condition do I find
myself? Because an old woman has chosen to talk scandal about me, I am
placed in a position in my own house which is disgraceful to you and
insupportable to myself. This man has been in the habit of coming here
on Sundays, and will, of course, know that we are at home. You must
manage it as you please. If you choose to receive him, I will go
upstairs.'