As he walked to and fro among his books down-stairs, he almost felt that he ought to beg his wife's pardon.
He knew his wife well enough to be sure that she would not forgive him unless he did so.

He would do so, he thought, but not exactly now.

A moment would come in which it might be easier than at present.
He would be able to assure her when he went up to dress for dinner, that he had meant no harm.

They were going out to dine at the house of a lady of rank, the Countess Dowager of Milborough, a lady standing high in the world's esteem, of whom his wife stood a little in awe; and he calculated that this feeling, if it did not make his task easy would yet take from it some of its difficulty.

Emily would be, not exactly cowed, by the prospect of Lady Milborough's dinner, but perhaps a little reduced from her usual self-assertion.