which he had been deprived. If Roger did not do
well at Cambridge it would be his own fault. If
his father did not send him thither, some day or other
he might be regretting the omission, as Squire Roger
had done himself for many a year. So Roger followed
his brother Osborne to Trinity,’ and Mrs. Hamley
was again left alone, after the year of indecision
as to Roger’s destination, which had been brought
on by her urgency. She had not been able for many
years to walk beyond her garden; the greater part
of her life was spent on a sofa, wheeled to the window
in summer, to the fireside in winter. The room
which she inhabited was large and pleasant; four tall
windows looked out upon a lawn dotted over with flower-beds,
and melting away into a small wood, in the centre
of which there was a pond, filled with water-lilies.
About this unseen pond in the deep shade Mrs. Hamley
had written many a pretty four-versed poem since she
lay on her sofa, alternately reading and composing
poetry. She had a small table by her side on
which there were the newest works of poetry and fiction;
a pencil and blotting-book, with loose sheets of blank
paper; a vase of flowers always of her husband’s
gathering; winter and summer, she had a sweet fresh
nosegay every day. Her maid brought her a draught
of medicine every three hours, with a glass of clear
water and a biscuit; her husband came to her as often
as his love for the open air and his labours out-of-doors
permitted; but the event of her day, when her boys
were absent, was Mr. Gibson’s frequent professional
visits.
He knew there was real secret harm going on all this
time that people spoke of her as a merely fanciful
invalid; and that one or two accused him of humouring
her fancies. But he only smiled at such accusations.
He felt that his visits were a real pleasure and lightening
of her growing and indescribable discomfort; he knew
that Squire Hamley would have been only too glad if
he had come every day; and he was conscious that by
careful watching of her symptoms he might mitigate
her bodily pain. Besides all these reasons, he
took great pleasure in the squire’s society.
Mr. Gibson enjoyed the other’s unreasonableness;
his quaintness; his strong conservatism in religion,
politics, and morals. Mrs. Hamley tried sometimes
to apologize for, or to soften away, opinions which
she fancied were offensive to the doctor, or contradictions
which she thought too abrupt; but at such times her
husband would lay his great hand almost caressingly
on Mr. Gibson’s shoulder, and soothe his wife’s
anxiety, by saying, ’Let us alone, little woman.
We understand each other, don’t we, doctor?
Why, bless your life, he gives me better than he gets
many a time; only, you see, he sugars it over, and
says a sharp thing, and pretends it’s all civility
and humility; but I can tell when he’s giving
me a pill.’