When the maid had taken out the tea-things Bridget drew her chair close to her mother’s. She sat stroking her hand, but looking away from her into the fire. “How long can you stay, Bid?” asked Mrs. Ruan, anxiously. Bridget did not reply at once. Then she slowly turned her head. “Mother,” she said, below her breath, “I came to tell you--I have left my husband.” Mrs. Ruan pushed her chair back, and gazed incredulously at her daughter. “Left--_what_ did you say, Bridget?” “I’ve left him--forever,” Bridget repeated more firmly. Mrs. Ruan looked at her a moment longer, and burst into tears. “Was there ever such a girl!” she sobbed. “You’ve always been a trouble to me--_always!_ and now, just when you’re settled and comfortable, and us so glad and thankful--and your beautiful house, and the carriage, and all those servants!--and the disgrace of it! What will every one say? How those Wilbys will talk, and how glad they’ll be. I can never hold up my head again--_never_. And your father--Bridget, you’re _mad_. You can’t know what you’re talking about!” Bridget sat with lips tightly closed, and a white face. “Not a word about _me_!” she broke out at last, bitterly. “Do you suppose I’m doing this without a cause? Do you think that if my life hadn’t been unendurable, I--? As it is, I’ve stayed with him and borne it for three years, for _you_, because I couldn’t bear to hurt you! Oh, mother! mother!” The last word was a cry of appeal. Mrs. Ruan was not deaf to it, even in the midst of her selfish grief. “Tell me what it’s all about,” she cried, turning to the girl. “You always _were_ too ’asty, Bridget. Even if there’s another woman, it’s no good flying in the face of Providence. What a woman’s got to do is to humor a man till he comes round to ’er again. I’ve been through it all with your father, Bid; so I know. It doesn’t do to be too hard on men; at any rate, it’s no _use_. They’re all alike. Women have all got to bear it, and you’ll ’ave to bear it too. There _is_ another woman, I suppose?” “Oh! as to that--” Bridget gave a little scornful laugh, and left the sentence unfinished. “But, mother, you _loved_ father!” she said, turning eagerly to her. “You love him!” “Yes, of course; ’Enry and I always got on very well together, on the whole. He’s got ’is faults, of course; we all ’ave. He’s a violent-tempered man, as you know, but--” “Well, but I _don’t_ love my husband. I--I--_despise_ him. He doesn’t love me. That is why I have decided to leave him--isn’t that reason enough?” “Reason?” repeated Mrs. Ruan, beginning to cry again. “You have no reason in you, Bridget. Suppose every one was to leave their husbands just because they didn’t love them, as you call it.” “The world would be a much cleaner place,” said Bridget, in a tense voice.