The Small House at Allington, Anthony Trollope [best ebook reader for chromebook .txt] 📗

sister; but she was seated grimly in her drawing-room when he came in to see her, on his return to his house. Having said some word which might be taken for a greeting, he was about to retire; but she stopped him with a request that he would speak to her.

“Certainly,” said he. “I was only going to dress. It is nearly the half-hour.”

“I won’t keep you very long, and if dinner is a few minutes late it won’t signify. Mamma and Margaretta are going to Baden-Baden.”

“To Baden-Baden, are they?”

“Yes; and they intend to remain there⁠—for a considerable time.” There was a little pause, and Alexandrina found it necessary to clear her voice and to prepare herself for further speech by a little cough. She was determined to make her proposition, but was rather afraid of the manner in which it might be first received.

“Has anything happened at Courcy Castle?” Crosbie asked.

“No; that is, yes; there may have been some words between papa and mamma; but I don’t quite know. That, however, does not matter now. Mamma is going, and purposes to remain there for the rest of the year.”

“And the house in town will be given up.”

“I suppose so, but that will be as papa chooses. Have you any objection to my going with mamma?”

What a question to be asked by a bride of ten weeks’ standing! She had hardly been above a month with her husband in her new house, and she was now asking permission to leave it, and to leave him also, for an indefinite number of months⁠—perhaps forever. But she showed no excitement as she made her request. There was neither sorrow, nor regret, nor hope in her face. She had not put on half the animation which she had once assumed in asking for the use, twice a week, of a carriage done up to look as though it were her own private possession. Crosbie had then answered her with great sternness, and she had wept when his refusal was made certain to her. But there was to be no weeping now. She meant to go⁠—with his permission if he would accord it, and without it if he should refuse it. The question of money was no doubt important, but Gazebee should manage that⁠—as he managed all those things.

“Going with them to Baden-Baden?” said Crosbie. “For how long?”

“Well; it would be no use unless it were for some time.”

“For how long a time do you mean, Alexandrina? Speak out what you really have to say. For a month?”

“Oh, more than that.”

“For two months, or six, or as long as they may stay there?”

“We could settle that afterwards, when I am there.” During all this time she did not once look into his face, though he was looking hard at her throughout.

“You mean,” said he, “that you wish to go away from me.”

“In one sense it would be going away, certainly.”

“But in the ordinary sense? is it not so? When you talk of going to Baden-Baden for an unlimited number of months, have you any idea of coming back again?”

“Back to London, you mean?”

“Back to me⁠—to my house⁠—to your duties as a wife! Why cannot you say at once what it is you want? You wish to be separated from me?”

“I am not happy here⁠—in this house.”

“And who chose the house? Did I want to come here? But it is not that. If you are not happy here, what could you have in any other house to make you happy?”

“If you were left alone in this room for seven or eight hours at a time, without a soul to come to you, you would know what I mean. And even after that, it is not much better. You never speak to me when you are here.”

“Is it my fault that nobody comes to you? The fact is, Alexandrina, that you will not reconcile yourself to the manner of life which is suitable to my income. You are wretched because you cannot have yourself driven round the Park. I cannot find you a carriage, and will not attempt to do so. You may go to Baden-Baden, if you please;⁠—that is, if your mother is willing to take you.”

“Of course I must pay my own expenses,” said Alexandrina. But to this he made no answer on the moment. As soon as he had given his permission he had risen from his seat and was going, and her last words only caught him in the doorway. After all, would not this be the cheapest arrangement that he could make? As he went through his calculations he stood up with his elbow on the mantelpiece in his dressing-room. He had scolded his wife because she had been unhappy with him; but had he not been quite as unhappy with her? Would it not be better that they should part in this quiet, half-unnoticed way;⁠—that they should part and never again come together? He was lucky in this, that hitherto had come upon them no prospect of any little Crosbie to mar the advantages of such an arrangement. If he gave her four hundred a year, and allowed Gazebee two more towards the paying off of encumbrances, he would still have six on which to enjoy himself in London. Of course he could not live as he had lived in those happy days before his marriage, nor, independently of the cost, would such a mode of life be within his reach. But he might go to his club for his dinners; he might smoke his cigar in luxury; he would not be bound to that wooden home which, in spite of all his resolutions, had become almost unendurable to him. So he made his calculations, and found that it would be well that his bride should go. He would give over his house and furniture to Gazebee, allowing Gazebee to do as he would about that. To be once more a bachelor, in lodgings, with six hundred a year to