“Oh no, they think you charming. They think because you’re cheerful and even-tempered, because you’re hail-fellow-well-met with every one you know, that you’ve got such a nice character. If they knew you as well as I do, they’d understand it was merely because you’re perfectly indifferent to them. You treat people as if they were your bosom friends, and then, five minutes after they’ve gone, you’ve forgotten all about them.... And the worst of it is, that I’m no more to you than anybody else.” “Oh, come, I don’t think you can really find such awful things wrong with me.” “I’ve never known you sacrifice your slightest whim to gratify my most earnest desire.” “You can’t expect me to do things which I think unreasonable.” “If you loved me, you’d not always be asking if the things I want are reasonable. I didn’t think of reason when I married you.” Edward made no answer, which naturally added to Bertha’s irritation. She was arranging flowers for the table, and broke off the stalks savagely. Edward, after a pause, went to the door. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Since you won’t play, I’m just going to do a few serves for practice.” “Why don’t you send for Miss Glover to come and play with you?” A new idea suddenly came to him (they came at sufficiently rare intervals not to spoil his equanimity), but the absurdity of it made him laugh. “Surely you’re not jealous of her, Bertha?” “I?” began Bertha, with tremendous scorn, and then changing her mind: “You prefer to play with her than to play with me.” He wisely ignored part of the charge. “Look at her and look at yourself. Do you think I could prefer her to you?” “I think you’re fool enough.” The words slipped out of Bertha’s mouth almost before she knew she had said them, and the bitter, scornful tone added to their violence. They frightened her, and turning very white, she glanced at her husband. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say that, Eddie.” Fearing now that she had really wounded him, Bertha was entirely sorry; she would have given anything for the words to be unsaid. Edward was turning over the pages of a book, looking at it listlessly. She went up to him. “I haven’t offended you, have I, Eddie? I didn’t mean to say that.” She put her arm in his; he did not answer. “Don’t be angry with me,” she faltered again, and then breaking down, buried her face in his bosom. “I didn’t mean what I said--I lost command over myself. You don’t know how you humiliated me the other day. I haven’t been able to sleep at night, thinking of it.... Kiss me.” He turned his face away, but she would not let him go; at last she found his lips. “Say you’re not angry with me.” “I’m not angry with you.” “Oh, I want your love so much, Eddie,” she murmured. “Now more than ever.... I’m going to have a child.” Then in reply to his astonished exclamation-- “I wasn’t certain till to-day.... Oh, Eddie, I’m so glad. I think it’s what I wanted to make me happy.” “I’m glad too,” he said.