CHAPTER XXVI. MARRIED WOMAN'S PROPERTY
On her return from church that Sunday Mrs Edmund Yule was anxious
to learn the result of the meeting between Amy and her husband. She hoped fervently that Amy's anomalous position would come to an end now that Reardon had the offer of something better than a mere clerkship. John Yule never ceased to grumble at his sister's permanence in the house, especially since he had learnt that the money sent by Reardon each month was not made use of; why it should not be applied for household expenses passed his understanding.
'It seems to me,' he remarked several times, 'that the fellow
only does his bare duty in sending it. What is it to anyone else
whether he lives on twelve shillings a week or twelve pence? It
is his business to support his wife; if he can't do that, to
contribute as much to her support as possible. Amy's scruples are
all very fine, if she could afford them; it's very nice to pay
for your delicacies of feeling out of other people's pockets.'
'There'll have to be a formal separation,' was the startling
announcement with which Amy answered her mother's inquiry as to
what had passed.
'A separation? But, my dear—!'
Mrs Yule could not express her disappointment and dismay.
'We couldn't live together; it's no use trying.'
'But at your age, Amy! How can you think of anything so shocking? And then, you know it will be impossible for him to make you a sufficient allowance.'
'I shall have to live as well as I can on the seventy-five pounds
a year. If you can't afford to let me stay with you for that, I
must go into cheap lodgings in the country, like poor Mrs Butcher
did.'
This was wild talking for Amy. The interview had upset her, and
for the rest of the day she kept apart in her own room. On the
morrow Mrs Yule succeeded in eliciting a clear account of the
conversation which had ended so hopelessly.
'I would rather spend the rest of my days in the workhouse than
beg him to take me back,' was Amy's final comment, uttered with
the earnestness which her mother understood but too well.
'But you are willing to go back, dear?'
'I told him so.'
'Then you must leave this to me. The Carters will let us know how
things go on, and when it seems to be time I must see Edwin
myself.'
'I can't allow that. Anything you could say on your own account
would be useless, and there is nothing to say from me.'
Mrs Yule kept her own counsel. She had a full month before her
during which to consider the situation, but it was clear to her
that these young people must be brought together again. Her
estimate of Reardon's mental condition had undergone a sudden
change from the moment when she heard that a respectable post was
within his reach; she decided that he was 'strange,' but then all
men of literary talent had marked singularities, and doubtless
she had been too hasty in interpreting the peculiar features
natural to a character such as his.
A few days later arrived the news of their relative's death at
Wattleborough.
This threw Mrs Yule into a commotion. At first she decided to
accompany her son and be present at the funeral; after changing
her mind twenty times, she determined not to go. John must send
or bring back the news as soon as possible. That it would be of a
nature sensibly to affect her own position, if not that of her
children, she had little doubt; her husband had been the
favourite brother of the deceased, and on that account there was
no saying how handsome a legacy she might receive. She dreamt of
houses in South Kensington, of social ambitions gratified even
thus late.
On the morning after the funeral came a postcard announcing
John's return by a certain train, but no scrap of news was added.
'Just like that irritating boy! We must go to the station to meet
him. You'll come, won't you, Amy?'
Amy readily consented, for she too had hopes, though
circumstances blurred them. Mother and daughter were walking
about the platform half an hour before the train was due; their
agitation would have been manifest to anyone observing them. When
at length the train rolled in and John was discovered, they
pressed eagerly upon him.
'Don't you excite yourself,' he said gruffly to his mother. 'There's no reason whatever.'