“No great wisdom is required to prophesy here,” answered Charlotte; “and, at any rate, we ought to feel that you and I are past the age when people may walk blindly where they should not or ought not to go.  There is no one else to take care of us—­we must be our own friends, our own managers.  No one expects us to commit ourselves in an outrage upon decency:  no one expects that we are going to expose ourselves to censure or to ridicule.”

“How can you so mistake me?” said Edward, unable to reply to his wife’s clear, open words.  “Can you find it a fault in me, if I am anxious about Ottilie’s happiness?  I do not mean future happiness—­no one can count on that—­but what is present, palpable, and immediate.  Consider, don’t deceive yourself; consider frankly Ottilie’s case, torn away from us, and sent to live among strangers.  I, at least, am not cruel enough to propose such a change for her!”

Charlotte saw too clearly into her husband’s intentions, through this disguise.  For the first time she felt how far he had estranged himself from her.  Her voice shook a little.  “Will Ottilie be happy if she divides us?” she asked.  “If she deprives me of a husband, and his children of a father!”

“Our children, I should have thought, were sufficiently provided for,” said Edward, with a cold smile; adding, rather more kindly, “but why at once expect the very worst?”

“The very worst is too sure to follow this passion of yours,” returned Charlotte; “do not refuse good advice while there is yet time; do not throw away the means which I propose to save us.  In troubled cases those must work and help who see the clearest—­this time it is I. Dear, dearest Edward! listen to me—­can you propose to me that now at once I shall renounce my happiness! renounce my fairest rights! renounce you!”

“Who says that?” replied Edward, with some embarrassment.

“You, yourself,” answered Charlotte; “in determining to keep Ottilie here, are you not acknowledging everything which must arise out of it?  I will urge nothing on you—­but if you cannot conquer yourself, at least you will not be able much longer to deceive yourself.”

Edward felt how right she was.  It is fearful to hear spoken out, in words, what the heart has gone on long permitting to itself in secret.  To escape only for a moment, Edward answered, “It is not yet clear to me what you want.”

“My intention,” she replied, “was to talk over with you these two proposals—­each of them has its advantages.  The school would be best suited to her, as she now is; but the other situation is larger, and wider, and promises more, when I think what she may become.”  She then detailed to her husband circumstantially what would lie before Ottilie in each position, and concluded with the words, “For my own part I should prefer the lady’s house to the school, for more reasons than one; but particularly because I should not like the affection, the love indeed, of the young man there, which Ottilie has gained, to increase.”