the Channel--he impressed it so fully on my mind that, when later
Florence wanted to go to Fordingbridge, I cut the proposal
short--absolutely short, with a curt no. It fixed her and it frightened
her. I was even backed up by all the doctors. I seemed to have had
endless interviews with doctor after doctor, cool, quiet men, who
would ask, in reasonable tones, whether there was any reason for
our going to England--any special reason. And since I could not
see any special reason, they would give the verdict: "Better not,
then." I daresay they were honest enough, as things go. They
probably imagined that the mere associations of the steamer might
have effects on Florence's nerves. That would be enough, that and
a conscientious desire to keep our money on the Continent.

It must have rattled poor Florence pretty considerably, for you see,
the main idea--the only main idea of her heart, that was otherwise
cold--was to get to Fordingbridge and be a county lady in the
home of her ancestors. But Jimmy got her, there: he shut on her
the door of the Channel; even on the fairest day of blue sky, with
the cliffs of England shining like mother of pearl in full view of
Calais, I would not have let her cross the steamer gangway to save
her life. I tell you it fixed her.

It fixed her beautifully, because she could not announce herself as
cured, since that would have put an end to the locked bedroom
arrangements. And, by the time she was sick of Jimmy--which
happened in the year 1903 --she had taken on Edward
Ashburnham. Yes, it was a bad fix for her, because Edward could
have taken her to Fordingbridge, and, though he could not give her
Branshaw Manor, that home of her ancestors being settled on his
wife, she could at least have pretty considerably queened it there