concealment forced on me by the proposals
themselves, which now hung heavy on my heart.

That evening I left Ewell, and rode towards home again, as far as
Richmond, where I remained for the night and the forepart of the next
day. I reached London in the afternoon; and got to North Villa--without
going home first--about five o'clock.

The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house
where Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me.

On this occasion, when I was shown into the drawing-room, both Mr. and
Mrs. Sherwin were awaiting me there. On the table was the sherry which
had been so perseveringly pressed on me at the last interview, and by it
a new pound cake. Mrs. Sherwin was cutting the cake as I came in, while
her husband watched the process with critical eyes. The poor woman's
weak white fingers trembled as they moved the knife under conjugal
inspection.

"Most happy to see you again--most happy indeed, my dear Sir," said Mr.
Sherwin, advancing with hospitable smile and outstretched hand. "Allow
me to introduce my better half, Mrs. S."

His wife rose in a hurry, and curtseyed, leaving the knife sticking
in the cake; upon which Mr. Sherwin, with a stern look at her,
ostentatiously pulled it out, and set it down rather violently on the
dish.

Poor Mrs. Sherwin! I had hardly noticed her on the day when she got into
the omnibus with her daughter--it was as if I now saw her for the first
time. There is a natural communicativeness about women's emotions. A
happy woman imperceptibly diffuses her happiness around her; she has an
influence that is something akin to the influence of a sunshiny day.
So, again, the melancholy of a melancholy woman is invariably, though
silently, infectious; and Mrs. Sherwin was one of this latter order. Her
pale, sickly, moist-looking skin; her large, mild, watery, light-blue
eyes; the restless timidity of her expression; the mixture of useless
hesitation and involuntary rapidity in every one of her actions--all
furnished the same significant betrayal of a life of incessant fear
and restraint; of a disposition full of modest generosities and meek
sympathies, which had been crushed down past rousing to self-assertion,
past ever seeing the light. There, in that mild, wan face of hers--in
those painful startings and hurryings when she moved; in that tremulous,
faint utterance when she spoke--_there,_ I could see one of those
ghastly heart-tragedies laid open before