“That she and Mr. Wainbridge were alone at Polton together at the hotel there.”
“That is all. You must acknowledge that if a girl stays with a man at a country hotel—”
“A country hotel! Is that bad?” he interrupted. “The town is always respectable. I understand. What a pity they had not stayed at the Grand or the Metropole. I am so glad I live in town. Aren’t you, Egerton?”
“Rubbish,” she replied. “You misunderstand me.”
“I am worried about Launa. Her reputation will suffer.”
He hated the mere idea of moral reflections.
“Has Launa a reputation yet?” asked George. “A woman must be talked about for three seasons, and have four married men in love with her. That is a reputation. It is eating your cake and having it too, and you are endeavouring to do that.”
“You tell me what they say of Launa. They say far worse of you. They say Sir Ralph lives here—not that you stay in the same hotel—by accident, simultaneously—which happened to her. They say that Buxton and Sir Ralph are partners, and that Herbert is useful. It is like the women in the Bible, you remember? ‘We will eat our own bread and wear our own apparel, only let us be called by thy name.’ Herbert gives the name.”
“You had better go,” she said. “You are a coward to say all these things to a woman. You would not dare say them if I were a man, or if Jack were here.”
“No; but he seldom is here, and he is useful as a shelter. I would not have said this if you had not made me angry about Launa. She is one of the best women I ever knew.”
“Good-bye. You live in too large a glass-house to throw stones, unless you are absolutely reckless and desire the smashing of your own roof.”
With this he left her, and she sat and thought it all over. She was very angry with Mr. George, and yet she laughed. She felt so absolutely sure of herself, and knew her husband was the one man in the world she loved. These others were merely to keep herself from thinking—they were to her what embroidery is to some women. Why should people talk of her? And Mr. George—what a brute he was!
What she hardly dared acknowledge to herself was her husband’s daily increasing indifference. He had been away since the 16th, and he had not told her where he was going.