“Why did you say nothing about them till you found it impossible to avoid.” Edward shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly. “Because I know how touchy you are.” “And yet you made them the offer.” “It came out almost unawares. They were grumbling about the weather, and without thinking, I said, ‘I’ll drive you over if you like.’ And they jumped at it.” “You’re so good-natured if any one but your wife is concerned.” “Well, dear, I can’t stay arguing. I shall be late already.” “You’re not really going?” It had been impossible for Bertha to realise that Edward would carry out his intention. “I must, my dear; it’s my duty.” “You have more duty to me than to any one else.... Oh, Eddie, don’t go. You can’t realise all it means to me.” “I must. I’m not going because I want to. I shall be back in an hour.” He bent down to kiss her, and she flung her arms round his neck, bursting into tears. “Oh, please don’t go--if you love me at all, if you’ve ever loved me.... Don’t you see that you’re destroying my love for you?” “Now, don’t be silly, there’s a good girl.” He loosened her arms and walked away; but rising from the sofa she followed him and took his arm, beseeching him to stay. “You see how unhappy I am; and you are all I have in the world now. For God’s sake, stay, Eddie. It means more to me than you know.” She sank to the floor; she was kneeling before him. “Come, get on to the sofa. All this is very bad for you.” He carried her to the couch, and then, to finish the scene, hurriedly left the room. Bertha sprang up to follow him, but sank back as the door slammed, and burying her face in her hands, surrendered herself to a passion of tears. But humiliation and rage almost drove away her grief. She had knelt before her husband for a favour, and he had not granted it. Suddenly she abhorred him. The love, which had been a tower of brass, fell like a house of cards. She would not try now to conceal from herself the faults that stared her in the face. He cared only for himself: with him it was only self, self, self. Bertha found a bitter fascination in stripping her idol of the finery with which her madness had bedizened him; she saw him more accurately now, and he was utterly selfish. But most unbearable of all was her own extreme humiliation. The rain poured down, unceasing, and the despair of nature ate into her soul. At last she was exhausted; and losing thought of time, lay half-unconscious, feeling at least no pain, her brain vacant and weary. When a servant came to ask if Miss Glover might see her, she hardly understood. “Miss Glover doesn’t usually stand on such ceremony,” she said ill-temperedly, forgetting the incident of the previous week. “Ask her to come in.” The parson’s sister came to the door and hesitated, growing red; the expression in her eyes was pained, and even frightened. “May I come in, Bertha?” “Yes.” She walked straight to the sofa, and fell on her knees.