Fletcher might love his wife, he would be something
of a tyrant, and she was very sure she never would make a good
slave. In her cooler moments she remembered that men are not
puppets, to be moved as a woman's will commands, and the uncertainty
of being able to carry out her charitable plans made her pause to
consider whether she would not be selling her liberty too cheaply,
if in return she got only dependence and bondage along with fortune
and a home.
So tempted and perplexed, self-deluded and self-warned, attracted
and repelled, was poor Christie, that she began to feel as if she
had got into a labyrinth without any clew to bring her safely out.
She longed to ask advice of some one, but could not turn to Mrs.
Sterling; and what other woman friend had she except Rachel, from
whom she had not heard for months?
As she asked herself this question one day, feeling sure that Mr.
Fletcher would come in the evening, and would soon put his fortune
to the touch again, the thought of Mrs. Wilkins seemed to answer
her.
"Why not?" said Christie: "she is sensible, kind, and discreet; she
may put me right, for I'm all in a tangle now with doubts and fears,
feelings and fancies. I'll go and see her: that will do me good,
even if I don't say a word about my 'werryments,' as the dear soul
would call them.
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