I ADMIRE Madeline’s conduct very much. I think it was splendid how she stood up to all the reproaches, and even ridicule; she told me that she had once, and only once, in her life been untrue to herself (she meant in accepting Charlie), and since then she has spoken the absolute truth to everybody about it all. She has been very plucky, and very straightforward, and only good can come of it. Honesty and pluck, especially for a girl—it’s made so difficult for girls—they’re the finest things in the world, I think.”

Bertha was speaking to Nigel.

He had remained away for what seemed to him an extraordinarily long time. He was afraid that she was slipping out of his life, without even noticing it. Stopping away until she missed him was a complete failure, since she didn’t miss him. And the day was approaching for the party Mary had consented to give. He knew that Bertha had accepted but was afraid she didn’t mean to come. That would be too sickening! To have all that worry with Mary, all that silly trouble and fuss for a foolish entertainment that he detested, all for nothing at all! And Mary was secretly enjoying the fact that she felt absolutely certain Percy would never let her come to Nigel’s house. She did not suppose Percy had guessed the writer of the letters; but he must have thought his wife was talked about, and some effect certainly they had had; for in the last few weeks, she happened to know for a fact, Nigel had neither called on or met Mrs. Kellynch. This afternoon she knew nothing of, for her suspicions were beginning to fade, and she was not, at present, having him followed. Nigel had taken his chance and dropped in to tea and found luck was on his side—Bertha had just come in from a drive with Madeline.

“It’s all very well,” he answered, “to say you admire her conduct, her bravery, and all that! Whom had she to fight against? Only her mother, whom she isn’t a bit afraid of, and Charlie, who, poor chap, is more afraid of her. The engagement wasn’t even public before she broke it off.”

“Yes; but, Nigel, it was very frank of her to tell everything so openly to Charlie. And now, poor girl, she’s very unhappy, but very courageous—she’s absolutely resolved never to marry. She says she’s lost her Rupert by her own faults, and it serves her right.”

“And suppose Rupert goes teaching English to an Italian girl at Venice, or gives her history lessons, or anything? Now he’s once thought of marrying, he may marry his third pupil. Wouldn’t Charlie have a chance then?”

“Never, unfortunately,” Bertha replied.

“Do you think she’d wait on the chance that Rupert might have a divorce?”

“Nigel, how horrid you are to sneer like that. You never appreciated Madeline!”

“I think I did, my dear, considering I was especially keen on her marrying my brother, even when I knew she liked somebody else.”

“Oh, that was only for him.”

“Or, perhaps, do you think a little for me? I might have felt if my brother married your greatest friend that we were sort of relations,” he said, with a laugh.

Bertha glanced at the clock.

“You can’t send me away just this minute,” he said. “You like honesty and frankness, and I’ve honestly come to ask you—are you coming to my party?”

Bertha paused a moment.“Why?” she said. “Do you very particularly want me to?”

“Very. And I’ll tell you the reason. It’s to please Mary.”

“Why should Mary care?”

“Bertha, I give you my word that she’ll be terribly disappointed and offended if you don’t. And”—he waited a moment—“I hardly know how to explain—it’ll do me harm if you don’t come—you and Percy. I can’t exactly explain. Do me this good turn, Bertha. A special favour, won’t you?”

He was artfully trying to suggest what he supposed to be the exact contrary to the fact. He knew Mary would be wild with joy if Bertha did not come, though he had no idea how extremely astonished and furious she would be if she should arrive, considering she had accepted. Of course in reality Mary thought nothing of the acceptance. She was both certain and determined that her “door would not be darkened” by Bertha’s presence.

Bertha had not intended to go since she saw Percy’s pleasure and relief at the cessation of the intimacy. But now? After all, Percy couldn’t mind going in with her for a few minutes if she begged him.

“If you tell me it’ll do you a good turn, Nigel—but I don’t understand!”“Do you wish me to explain?”

“No, I don’t. I’ll take your word. But all the more I don’t want you to be always calling. I’m afraid Mary doesn’t like me.”

“It isn’t that exactly.”

Bertha thought of her own happiness with Percy. Her warm, kind heart made her say gently:

“Nigel, I hope you’re nice and considerate to Mary? You make her happy?”

“Doesn’t this look like it?” he answered. “She’ll be in a state if you don’t turn up.” He sighed. “I’ve never said a word about it, but she’s rather trying and tiresome if you want to know.”

“Then I’m very, very sorry for her,” said Bertha, “and you can’t do enough for her. … Why, with those lovely children I’m sure she’d be ideally happy if——”

“Oh, you think, of course, it’s my fault. It never occurs to you whether I’m happy!”

A look from her which she tried to repress reminded him of his deliberate choice. He thought the time had come to make her a little sorry for him, knowing her extreme tenderness of heart. He spoke in a lower voice, and looked away.

“If I’m sometimes a bit miserable, it serves me right.”“Be good to her,” said Bertha.

“I’ll do anything on earth you’ll tell me.”

“What are the children’s names?”

“Nigel and Marjorie.”

“Darling pets, I suppose?”

“Isn’t it extraordinary, Bertha,” he said. “I’ve no right to say it to you, but that’s my great trouble.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t care much about them.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Bertha, shaking her head. “It’s you who are mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“Nigel, remember, I know you pretty well.”

“And you think I’m trying to make you sorry for me?”

“I won’t say that. But you ought to be happy, and so ought your wife.”

He spoke in a different tone, with his usual cheery smile.

“Well, if you will grace our entertainment, I promise we will be happy. Do come, Bertha!” He was taking all this trouble simply so as not to have a boring evening at his own home!

“Very well, Nigel,” she answered, with a kind, frank smile. “I’ll come. Lately Percy’s had so much work that in the evenings he hasn’t been very keen on going out to parties.”“And you don’t go without him?” he asked with curiosity.

“No. Aren’t I unfashionable?”

“You’re delightful.”

“Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand.

He took it, and held it, saying:

“And now I sha’n’t see you again until a few minutes at the party, and heaven knows when after that.”

“I’ll bring Madeline. Shall I?”

“Oh yes, do. It’ll be some party, as the Americans say, and Charlie won’t be there.”

“Good-bye again.”

“What are you going to wear?” he asked, in his old, brotherly voice, lingering by the door.

“Salmon-coloured chiffon with a mayonnaise sash,” she answered, fairly pushing him out of the room. “Do go.”