He was glad to slip away quietly
at the beginning of September, and to go back to Spa, where the waters
agreed with his rheumatism--that convenient rheumatism which was an excuse
for anything he might choose to do.
As for his daughter, he washed his hands of all responsibility in
connection with her. He felt as if he had provided for her in a most
meritorious manner by the diplomacy which had brought about her marriage.
Whether she was happy in her new life, was a question which he had never
asked himself; but if any one else had propounded such a question, he would
have replied unhesitatingly in the affirmative. Of course Clarissa was
happy. Had she not secured for herself all the things that women most
value? could she not run riot in the pleasures for which women will imperil
their souls? He remembered his own wife's extravagance, and he argued with
himself, that if she could have had a perennial supply of fine dresses, and
a perpetual round of amusement, she would speedily have forgotten Colonel
Fairfax. It was the dulness of her life, and the dismal atmosphere of
poverty, that had made her false.
So he went back to Spa, secure in the thought that he could make his home
at Arden whenever he pleased. Perhaps at some remote period of old age,
when his senses were growing dim, he might like to inhabit the familiar
rooms, and feel no sting in the thought that he was a guest, and not the
master.
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