Mrs Caffyn inclined her head towards Madge.
'Oh, no! Nothing, nothing.'
'Don't you think, my dear, if there's nothing atwixt you, as it was a
flyin' in the face of Providence to turn him off? You were reglarly
engaged to him, and I have heard you say he was very fond of you. I
suppose there were some high words about something, and a kind of a
quarrel like, and so you parted, but that's nothing. It might all be
made up now, and it ought to be made up. What was it about?'
'There was no quarrel.'
'Well, of course, if you don't like to say anything more to me, I
won't ask you. I don't want to hear any secrets as I shouldn't hear.
I speak only because I can't abear to see you here when I believe as
everything might be put right, and you might have a house of your
own, and a good husband, and be happy for the rest of your days. It
isn't too late for that now. I know what I know, and as how he'd
marry you at once.'
'Oh, my dear Mrs Caffyn, I have no secret from you, who have been so
good to me: I can only say I could not love him--not as I ought.'
'If you can't love a man, that's to say if you can't ABEAR him, it's
wrong to have him, but if there's a child that does make a
difference, for one has to think of the child and of being
respectable. There's something in being respectable; although, for
that matter, I've see'd respectable people at Great Oakhurst as were
ten times worse than those as aren't. Still, a-speaking for myself,
I'd put up with a goodish bit to marry the man whose child wor mine.'
'For myself I could, but it wouldn't be just to him.' 'I don't see what you mean.'
'I mean that I could sacrifice myself if I believed it to be my duty,
but I should wrong him cruelly if I were to accept him and did not
love him with all my heart.'
'My dear, you take my word for it, he isn't so particklar as you are.
A man isn't so particklar as a woman. He goes about his work, and
has all sorts of things in his head, and if a woman makes him
comfortable when he comes home, he's all right. I won't say as one
woman is much the same as another to a man--leastways to all men--but
still they are NOT particklar. Maybe, though, it isn't quite the
same with gentlefolk like yourself,--but there's that blessed baby a-
cryin'.' Mrs Caffyn hastened upstairs, leaving Madge to her reflections. Once
more the old dialectic reappeared. 'After all,' she thought, 'it is,
as Clara said, a question of degree. There are not a thousand
husbands and wives in this great city whose relationship comes near
perfection. If I felt aversion my course would be clear, but there
is no aversion; on the contrary, our affection for one another is
sufficient for a decent household and decent existence undisturbed by
catastrophes. No brighter sunlight is obtained by others far better
than myself. Ought I to expect a refinement of relationship to which
I have no right? Our claims are always beyond our deserts, and we
are disappointed if our poor, mean, defective natures do not obtain
the homage which belongs to those of ethereal texture. It will be a
life with no enthusiasms nor romance, perhaps, but it will be
tolerable, and what may be called happy, and my child will be
protected and educated. My child! what is there which I ought to put
in the balance against her? If our sympathy is not complete, I have
my own little oratory: I can keep the candles alight, close the
door, and worship there alone.'