“Oh, you think, of course, it’s my fault. It never occurs to you whether I’m happy!”
A look from her which she tried to repress reminded him of his deliberate choice. He thought the time had come to make her a little sorry for him, knowing her extreme tenderness of heart. He spoke in a lower voice, and looked away.
“If I’m sometimes a bit miserable, it serves me right.”
“Be good to her,” said Bertha.
“I’ll do anything on earth you’ll tell me.”
“What are the children’s names?”
“Nigel and Marjorie.”
“Darling pets, I suppose?”
“Isn’t it extraordinary, Bertha,” he said. “I’ve no right to say it to you, but that’s my great trouble.”
“What?”