The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

done now. If she could only thank the woman for the pleasantness of her demeanour, and then go, she could, when alone, make up her mind as to what she would do next. She had not yet told herself she would submit herself again to Paul Montague. She had only told herself that, within her own breast, she was bound to forgive him. “You have been very kind,” she said at last⁠—speaking only because it was necessary that she should say something.

“It is well that there should be some kindness where there has been so much that is unkind. Forgive me, Miss Carbury, if I speak plainly to you. Of course you will go back to him. Of course you will be his wife. You have told me that you love him dearly, as plainly as I have told you the same story of myself. Your coming here would of itself have declared it, even if I did not see your satisfaction at my account of his treachery to me.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, do not say that of me!”

“But it is true, and I do not in the least quarrel with you on that account. He has preferred you to me, and as far as I am concerned there is an end of it. You are a girl, whereas I am a woman⁠—and he likes your youth. I have undergone the cruel roughness of the world, which has not as yet touched you; and therefore you are softer to the touch. I do not know that you are very superior in other attractions; but that has sufficed, and you are the victor. I am strong enough to acknowledge that I have nothing to forgive in you;⁠—and am weak enough to forgive all his treachery.” Hetta was now holding the woman by the hand, and was weeping, she knew not why. “I am so glad to have seen you,” continued Mrs. Hurtle, “so that I may know what his wife was like. In a few days I shall return to the States, and then neither of you will ever be troubled further by Winifrid Hurtle. Tell him that if he will come and see me once before I go, I will not be more unkind to him than I can help.”

When Hetta did not decline to be the bearer of this message she must have at any rate resolved that she would see Paul Montague again⁠—and to see him would be to tell him that she was again his own. She now got herself quickly out of the room, absolutely kissing the woman whom she had both dreaded and despised. As soon as she was alone in the street she tried to think of it all. How full of beauty was the face of that American female⁠—how rich and glorious her voice in spite of a slight taint of the well-known nasal twang;⁠—and above all how powerful and at the same time how easy and how gracious was her manner! That she would be an unfit wife for Paul Montague was certain to Hetta, but that he or any man should have loved her and have been loved by her, and then have been willing to part from her, was wonderful. And yet Paul Montague had preferred herself, Hetta Carbury, to this woman! Paul had certainly done well for his own cause when he had referred the younger lady to the elder.

Of her own quarrel of course there must be an end. She had been unjust to the man, and injustice must of course be remedied by repentance and confession. As she walked quickly back to the railway station she brought herself to love her lover more fondly than she had ever done. He had been true to her from the first hour of their acquaintance. What truth higher than that has any woman a right to desire? No doubt she gave to him a virgin heart. No other man had ever touched her lips, or been allowed to press her hand, or to look into her eyes with unrebuked admiration. It was her pride to give herself to the man she loved after this fashion, pure and white as snow on which no foot has trodden. But in taking him, all that she wanted was that he should be true to her now and henceforward. The future must be her own work. As to the “now,” she felt that Mrs. Hurtle had given her sufficient assurance.

She must at once let her mother know this change in her mind. When she re-entered the house she was no longer sullen, no longer anxious to be silent, very willing to be gracious if she might be received with favour⁠—but quite determined that nothing should shake her purpose. She went at once into her mother’s room, having heard from the boy at the door that Lady Carbury had returned.

“Hetta, wherever have you been?” asked Lady Carbury.

“Mamma,” she said, “I mean to write to Mr. Montague and tell him that I have been unjust to him.”

“Hetta, you must do nothing of the kind,” said Lady Carbury, rising from her seat.

“Yes, mamma. I have been unjust, and I must do so.”

“It will be asking him to come back to you.”

“Yes, mamma:⁠—that is what I mean. I shall tell him that if he will come, I will receive him. I know he will come. Oh, mamma, let us be friends, and I will tell you everything. Why should you grudge me my love?”

“You have sent him back his brooch,” said Lady Carbury hoarsely.

“He shall give it me again. Hear what I have done. I have seen that American lady.”

“Mrs. Hurtle!”

“Yes;⁠—I have been to her. She is a wonderful woman.”

“And she has told you wonderful lies.”

“Why should she lie to me? She has told me no lies. She said nothing in his favour.”

“I can well believe that. What can anyone say in his favour?”

“But she told me that which has assured me that Mr. Montague has never behaved badly to me. I shall write to