Her mother added immensely to her depression. Mrs. Irwin was a woman who detested facts, so much so that she thought statistics positively indecent (though she would never have used the expression). When she was told there were more women than men in England, she would bite her lips and change the subject. She had had all the Victorian intense desire to see her daughter married young, and all the Victorian almost absurd delicacy in pretending she didn't. When, in one week, her only daughter--a girl who was not remarkably pretty, and had only a little money--should have proposals from no less than two attractive and eligible young men and should have muddled it up so badly that, though she had been prepared to accept both of them, she was now unable to marry either, her mother was, naturally, pained and disgusted. Madeline, who was usually gentle and amiable to her, in this case spoke with a violence and determination that left no possible hope of her returning to Charlie Hillier. She left Mrs. Irwin nothing to do but to put on an air of refined resignation, of having neuralgia, which she now called neuritis, because Madeline had annoyed her so much, and of behaving, when Madeline sat with her, as much as possible like a person who was somewhere else. Bertha was Madeline's only consolation and resource. Bertha took life with such delightful coolness. "How would you advise me to behave to him, if it _had_ come off--I mean if I _had_ married Rupert?" Madeline asked Bertha. She was fond of these problematical speculations. "I should say be an angel, if he deserved it, or a devil if he appreciated it. Then--now and then--be non-existent, charming and indifferent, when you wanted to hedge--when there was no particular response. You'll go with me to the Hilliers' party, won't you, as Charlie will be away?" "Of course I will--if you like. But will Percy go--and let you go?" "He says he won't, but I think he will," she replied. CHAPTER XXI THE HILLIERS' ENTERTAINMENT No more had been said between them about the Hilliers' party; and Percy began to hope that it would be dropped. But on the morning Bertha asked him if he would like to take her out to dinner first with Madeline; assuming that, as he had said no more about it, he intended to go. With those letters upstairs in the box, how could he? "I simply can't," he answered. "I don't wish to go to that man's house." "Then must I take Madeline alone?" said Bertha. "In all these years, Percy, I don't think I've ever been to a party without you." "And I don't see why you should begin now," he answered. "But, Percy, I want to go. Only for a few minutes." "I'd much rather you didn't." Bertha thought this tyrannical. She had promised Nigel, because he had implied to her that it would get him out of the domestic difficulty. "Oh, do, Percy dear. It's treating me as if you didn't trust me. After all ... if you like I'll swear to arrange never to see Nigel again." "I wish you would."