"YOU don't need advice, wisest, dearest woman that ever lived. If you
did--"
"Would you give it to me?"
"Would you act upon what I gave?"
"That's not a fair inquiry," said she, smiling despite her gravity. "I
don't mind hearing it--what you do really think the most correct and
proper course for me."
"It is so easy for me to say, and yet I dare not, for it would be
provoking you to remonstrances."
Knowing, of course, what the advice would be, she did not press him
further, and was about to beckon Marty forward and leave him, when he
interrupted her with, "Oh, one moment, dear Grace--you will meet me
again?"
She eventually agreed to see him that day fortnight. Fitzpiers
expostulated at the interval, but the half-alarmed earnestness with
which she entreated him not to come sooner made him say hastily that he
submitted to her will--that he would regard her as a friend only,
anxious for his reform and well-being, till such time as she might
allow him to exceed that privilege.
All this was to assure her; it was only too clear that he had not won
her confidence yet. It amazed Fitzpiers, and overthrew all his
deductions from previous experience, to find that this girl, though she
had been married to him, could yet be so coy. Notwithstanding a certain
fascination that it carried with it, his reflections were sombre as he
went homeward; he saw how deep had been his offence to produce so great
a wariness in a gentle and once unsuspicious soul.
He was himself too fastidious to care to coerce her. To be an object
of misgiving or dislike to a woman who shared his home was what he
could not endure the thought of. Life as it stood was more tolerable.
When he was gone, Marty joined Mrs. Fitzpiers. She would fain have
consulted Marty on the question of Platonic relations with her former
husband, as she preferred to regard him. But Marty showed no great
interest in their affairs, so Grace said nothing. They came onward, and
saw Melbury standing at the scene of the felling which had been audible
to them, when, telling Marty that she wished her meeting with Mr.
Fitzpiers to be kept private, she left the girl to join her father. At
any rate, she would consult him on the expediency of occasionally
seeing her husband.
Her father was cheerful, and walked by her side as he had done in
earlier days. "I was thinking of you when you came up," he said. "I
have considered that what has happened is for the best. Since your
husband is gone away, and seems not to wish to trouble you, why, let
him go, and drop out of your life. Many women are worse off. You can
live here comfortably enough, and he can emigrate, or do what he likes
for his good. I wouldn't mind sending him the further sum of money he
might naturally expect to come to him, so that you may not be bothered
with him any more. He could hardly have gone on living here without
speaking to me, or meeting me; and that would have been very unpleasant
on both sides."