But the next morning Manston found that he had been forgetful of another
matter, in naming the following Monday to his wife for the journey.
The fact was this. A letter had just come, reminding him that he had
left the whole of the succeeding week open for an important business
engagement with a neighbouring land-agent, at that gentleman’s residence
thirteen miles off. The particular day he had suggested to his wife,
had, in the interim, been appropriated by his correspondent. The meeting
could not now be put off.
So he wrote again to his wife, stating that business, which could not
be postponed, called him away from home on Monday, and would entirely
prevent him coming all the way to fetch her on Sunday night as he had
intended, but that he would meet her at the Carriford Road Station with
a conveyance when she arrived there in the evening.
The next day came his wife’s answer to his first letter, in which she
said that she would be ready to be fetched at the time named. Having
already written his second letter, which was by that time in her hands,
he made no further reply.
The week passed away. The steward had, in the meantime, let it become
generally known in the village that he was a married man, and by a
little judicious management, sound family reasons for his past secrecy
upon the subject, which were floated as adjuncts to the story, were
placidly received; they seemed so natural and justifiable to the
unsophisticated minds of nine-tenths of his neighbours, that curiosity
in the matter, beyond a strong curiosity to see the lady’s face, was
well-nigh extinguished.