'But if one is innocent! For my part, if I knew myself innocent I could brave them all. It is the feeling that one is wrong that cows one.' And Mrs. Furnival thought of the little confession which she would be called upon to make at home.
And then feeling some difficulty as to her last words in such an interview, Mrs. Furnival got up to go. 'Perhaps, Mrs. Orme,' she said, 'I have been foolish in this.'
'You have been mistaken, Mrs. Furnival. I am sure of that.'
'I begin to think I have. But, Mrs. Orme, will you let me ask you a favour? Perhaps you will not say anything about my coming here. I have been very unhappy; I have indeed; and—' Mrs. Furnival's handkerchief was now up at her eyes, and Mrs. Orme's heart was again full of pity. Of course she gave the required promise; and, looking to the character of the woman, we may say that, of course, she kept it.
'Mrs. Furnival! What was she here about?' Peregrine asked of his mother.
'I would rather not tell you, Perry,' said his mother, kissing him; and then there were no more words spoken on the subject.
Mrs. Furnival as she made her journey back to London began to dislike Martha Biggs more and more, and most unjustly attributed to that lady in her thoughts the folly of this journey to Hamworth. The journey to Hamworth had been her own doing, and had the idea originated with Miss Biggs the journey would never have been made. As it was, while she was yet in the train, she came to the strong resolution of returning direct from the London station to her own house in Harley Street. It would be best to cut the knot at once, and thus by a bold stroke of the knife rid herself of the Orange Street rooms and Miss Biggs at the same time. She did drive to Harley Street, and on her arrival at her own door was informed by the astonished Spooner that, 'Master was at home,—all alone in the dining-room. He was going to dine at home, and seemed very lonely like.' There, as she stood in the hall, there was nothing but the door between her and her husband, and she conceived that the sound of her arrival must have been heard by him. For a moment her courage was weak, and she thought of hurrying up stairs. Had she done so her trouble would still have been all before her. Some idea of this came upon her mind, and after a moment's pause, she opened the dining-room door and found herself in her husband's presence. He was sitting over the fire in his arm-chair, very gloomily, and had not heard the arrival. He too had some tenderness left in his heart, and this going away of his wife had distressed him.
'Tom,' she said, going up to him, and speaking in a low voice, 'I have come back again.' And she stood before him as a suppliant.
