She would not blame Mrs. Sudlow even in her thoughts; she would not believe that the Vicaress, notwithstanding the veiled hostility which had existed between them for years, would, knowingly and of her own free will, do her so ill a turn. But, indeed, it would have been a matter of small moment to her to be able to ascertain by what mischance the truth had become known. The situation was an intolerable one, for beneath that calm and equable exterior lay hidden a proud and sensitive spirit, which, now that its secret armour had been pierced, lay at the world's mercy. Iselford as a home was no longer possible to her; she must seek another elsewhere.
"Where should she go but to London and keep house for her son?" demanded Phil, not without a show of reason, when the case was laid before him. She had given in her adhesion to the plan, but had not quite settled the date of her departure, when Phil came down to spend the week-end with her. Together they went to church on the Sunday morning, but, as they left after service was over, so unmistakable was the way in which they were avoided--it may be said shunned--by one group of whilom acquaintances after another, that, as they quitted the churchyard, Mrs. Winslade let her veil drop over her face, and Phil could feel that the arm resting within his was trembling. "My dear boy," she said presently with a pathetic quaver in her voice, "if you can arrange to stay over to-morrow I will go back with you. The furniture and other things can follow later on."
Thus did it come to pass that Mrs. Winslade was driven from the home which had sheltered her for so long a time by the "look askance, the cut direct" of a number of so-called "good" people, whose views, both mental and ethical, were as restricted and as incapable of expansion as the horizon of the petty provincial town in which their lot happened to be cast.
Miss Sudlow and Phil made a point of writing to each other twice a week. With the ordinary run of their correspondence we have nothing to do; it concerned themselves only and was sacred to their own eyes. But there came a day, after Fanny had been about three weeks at Loudwater House, when she addressed to her lover a long epistle, which, as having an important bearing on the events of which this narrative is a record, is here transcribed in so far as it is needful to do so.