We were then passing a street in the neighborhood of Portman Square. I was on the point of speaking again, when the words were suspended on my lips. I saw my husband.
He was just descending the steps of a house--as if leaving it after a visit. His eyes were on the ground: he did not look up when the-carriage passed. As the servant closed the door behind him, I noticed that the number of the house was Sixteen. At the next corner I saw the name of the street. It was Vivian Place.
“Do you happen to know who lives at Number Sixteen Vivian Place?” I inquired of my companion.
Benjamin started. My question was certainly a strange one, after what he had just said to me.
“I have just seen Eustace leaving that house.”
“My mind is in a bad way, Benjamin. Everything my husband does that I don’t understand rouses my suspicion now.”
Benjamin lifted his withered old hands, and let them drop on his knees again in mute lamentation over me.
“I tell you again,” I went on, “my life is unendurable to me. I won’t answer for what I may do if I am left much longer to live in doubt of the one man on earth whom I love. You have had experience of the world. Suppose you were shut out from Eustace’s confidence, as I am? Suppose you were as fond of him as I am, and felt your position as bitterly as I feel it--what would you do?”
The question was plain. Benjamin met it with a plain answer.
“I think I should find my way, my dear, to some intimate friend of your husband’s,” he said, “and make a few discreet inquiries in that quarter first.”
Some intimate friend of my husband’s? I considered with myself. There was but one friend of his whom I knew of--my uncle’s correspondent, Major Fitz-David. My heart beat fast as the name recurred to my memory. Suppose I followed Benjamin’s advice? Suppose I applied to Major Fitz-David? Even if he, too, refused to answer my questions, my position would not be more helpless than it was now. I determined to make the attempt. The only difficulty in the way, so far, was to discover the Major’s address. I had given back his letter to Doctor Starkweather, at my uncle’s own request. I remembered that the address from which the Major wrote was somewhere in London--and I remembered no more.