Maud could
not fail to observe this, and its recurrence struck a chill to her
heart. She had not the courage to speak to her mother; a deadweight
of trouble, a restless spirit of apprehension, made her life one of
passive endurance; she feared to have the unnatural conditions of
their home openly recognised. Very often her thoughts turned to the
time when she had found refuge from herself in the daily occupation
of teaching, and, had she dared, she would gladly have gone away
once more as a governess. But she could not bring herself to propose
such a step. To do so would necessitate explanations, and that was
what she dreaded most of all. Whole days, with the exception of
meal-times, she spent in her own room, and there no one ever
disturbed her. Sometimes she read, but most often sat in prolonged
brooding, heedless of the hours.
Her father was now constantly away from home. He told her that he
travelled on business. It scarcely seemed to be a relief to him to
rest awhile in his chair; indeed, Paul had grown incapable of
resting. Time was deepening the lines of anxiety on his sallow face.
His mind seemed for ever racked with painful calculation. Mrs.
Enderby, too, spent much time away from the house, and Maud knew
nothing of her engagements.
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