As soon as they had left the drawing-room, Christina, who was a little
ashamed of the transaction to which I had been a witness, imprudently
returned to it, and began to justify it, saying that it cut her to the
heart, and that it cut Theobald to the heart and a good deal more, but
that "it was the only thing to be done."
I received this as coldly as I decently could, and by my silence during
the rest of the evening showed that I disapproved of what I had seen.
Next day I was to go back to London, but before I went I said I should
like to take some new-laid eggs back with me, so Theobald took me to the
house of a labourer in the village who lived a stone's throw from the
Rectory as being likely to supply me with them. Ernest, for some reason
or other, was allowed to come too. I think the hens had begun to sit,
but at any rate eggs were scarce, and the cottager's wife could not find
me more than seven or eight, which we proceeded to wrap up in separate
pieces of paper so that I might take them to town safely.
This operation was carried on upon the ground in front of the cottage
door, and while we were in the midst of it the cottager's little boy, a
lad much about Ernest's age, trod upon one of the eggs that was wrapped
up in paper and broke it.
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