When the minister, egged on by distracted
Hall relatives, remonstrated, he replied, respectfully, that he was
doing what he believed to be his duty, "and if it seems to be a duty,
I can't help myself; you see that, don't you?" he said, anxiously.
But that was practically all he found to say; for the most part
he was silent. Athalia, in her absorption, probably had not
the slightest idea of the agonies of mortification which he suffered;
her imagination told her, truly enough, what angry relatives
and pleasantly horrified neighbors said about her, and the abuse
exhilarated her very much; but her imagination stopped there.
It did not give her the family's opinion of her husband; it did
not whisper the gossip of the grocery-store and the post-office;
it did not repeat the chuckles or echo the innuendoes:
"So Squire Hall's wife's got tired of him? Rather live
with the Shakers than him!" "I like Hall, but I haven't
any sympathy with him," the doctor said; "what in thunder did
he let her go gallivanting off to visit the Shakers for?
Might have known a female like Mrs. Hall'd get a bee in her bonnet.
He ought to have kept her at home. _I_ would have.
I wouldn't have had any such nonsense in my family!
Well, for an obstinate man (and he IS obstinate, you know),
the squire, when it comes to his wife, has no more backbone
than a wet string."
"Wonder if there's anything under it all?" came the sly insinuation
of gossip; "wonder if she hasn't got something besides the Shakers
up her sleeve? You wait!"
If Athalia's imagination spared her these comments,
Lewis's unimaginative common sense supplied them.
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