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!”
“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——”