So, when the morning came of age and it was time to rise, by no action,
look, or sign, did she betray the presence of the unusual in her soul.
If this which was before her must be done, it would be carried out as
though it were of no import, as though it were a daily action; nor did
she force herself to quietude, or pride herself thereon, but acted thus
from instinct, the instinct for avoiding fuss and unnecessary suffering
that was bred in her.
Mr. Pendyce went out at half-past ten accompanied by his bailiff and the
spaniel John. He had not the least notion that his wife still meant the
words she had spoken overnight. He had told her again while dressing
that he would have no more to do with George, that he would cut him out
of his will, that he would force him by sheer rigour to come to heel,
that, in short, he meant to keep his word, and it would have been
unreasonable in him to believe that a woman, still less his wife, meant
to keep hers.
Mrs. Pendyce spent the early part of the morning in the usual way. Half
an hour after the Squire went out she ordered the carriage round,
had two small trunks, which she had packed herself, brought down, and
leisurely, with her little green bag, got in. To her maid, to the butler
Bester, to the coachman Benson, she said that she was going up to stay
with Mr.
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