CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Neighbour Again

December 20th, 1825—Another year has passed, and I am tired of my life. And yet, I cannot leave it; I cannot leave my son alone in this evil world. Thankfully, my husband is not often at Grassdale. He frequently travels to London, or goes to visit one of his friends. I am quite content during these times, to be alone with my son, to teach him proper morals and polite manners.

Happily, there were none of Arthur's "friends" invited to Grassdale last autumn; he left to visit some of them instead. I wish he always would. Mr Hargrave, however, stayed nearby at the Grove, which annoyed me a great deal.

For seven or eight months, he has behaved well, but has recently changed. One morning, he arrived at Grassdale for a visit, while little Arthur and I were taking a walk. He was quite silent for some time before beginning a long speech explaining how he has loved me for many years, and believes we must be together. I stopped him immediately, telling him a love affair between us was impossible. A few days after, I heard that he had departed for London. He returned, however, in eight or nine weeks, but his behaviour was, once again, proper and respectful.

One morning, however, he came to Grassdale, looking quite anxious. He announced that he had some important news about Mr Huntingdon (I no longer called my husband "Arthur," as I only used that word for my darling child). Mr Hargrave informed me that my husband was visiting Lord and Lady Lowborough.

"That does not concern me," I told him coldly.

"You have no love for your husband, then?" he asked me.

"None."

"I knew you no longer loved him. He was once a friend to me, but I can no longer be a friend to such a hurtful and selfish man. But tell me, do you ever think of hurting your husband in the same manner he has hurt you?"

"Of course not! I would be no happier!"

"Mrs Huntingdon, we are both unhappy, but I know that if we were together, we could both be happy. Please, do not refuse my love!"

"Mr Hargrave, I have a son and you have a mother. A love affair between us is impossible."

"No one will know. We will have a secret love affair. Mrs Huntingdon, I love you!"

I was shocked.

"If you truly love me, then you should understand the pain I feel, and how you hurt me when you ask such things. If you do, indeed, love me, then you should attempt to lessen my pain by never asking me about such matters again."

He was silent, with a look of confusion and sadness.

After a moment, he spoke: "Then, I must leave you." Very soon after, I heard that he had gone to Paris, where he still is. I am thankful!

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