But to forget what had happened, or to feel satisfied with my position, was beyond the power of my will.

My tranquillity as a woman--perhaps my dearest interests as a wife--depended absolutely on penetrating the mystery of my mother-in-law's conduct, and on discovering the true meaning of the wild words of penitence and self-reproach which my husband had addressed to me on our way home.
So far I could advance toward realizing my position--and no further.
When I asked myself what was to be done next, hopeless confusion, maddening doubt, filled my mind, and transformed me into the most listless and helpless of living women.
I gave up the struggle.

In dull, stupid, obstinate despair, I threw myself on my bed, and fell from sheer fatigue into a broken, uneasy sleep.
I was awakened by a knock at the door of my room.
Was it my husband?
I started to my feet as the idea occurred to me.

Was some new trial of my patience and my fortitude at hand?
Half nervously, half irritably, I asked who was there.
The landlady's voice answered me.
"Can I speak to you for a moment, if you please ?" I opened the door.

There is no disguising it--though I loved him so dearly, though I had left home and friends for his sake--it was a relief to me, at that miserable time, to know that Eustace had not returned to the house.
The landlady came in, and took a seat, without waiting to be invited, close by my side.