“You’ve accepted, and that’s enough. I suppose you had to say you were going. You can easily write Mrs. Hillier an excuse the next day. Dozens of people will do it.”
“Percy, I want to go.”
He looked up angrily and in surprise.
“You want to go? You certainly can’t. I don’t wish it. Why, remember what you promised. Is this infernal intimacy beginning again?”
“Percy, to-day is only the third time I’ve seen him since we talked about it! And I hadn’t the faintest idea he was coming to-day. I was surprised and annoyed to see him. Since Madeline broke it off with Charlie, we’ve heard nothing about them. Don’t you believe me?”
“Naturally, I do. But it’s a very odd thing a man should call here, and beg you to promise to come to his wife’s party! Isn’t it?”
“Perhaps it is. We stopped seeing him so suddenly, you see.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” said Percy, with angry impatience. The typewritten letters were torturing him. He had long been ashamed of not having shown them to Bertha, and made a clean breast of it. It was another reason why he hated Nigel and wanted the whole subject absolutely put aside and forgotten.
“In my opinion it suggests a very curious relation his coming here to-day like this. Not on your side, dear,” he continued gently, putting his hand on hers. “But, if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t know very much of the world, dear little Bertha, and in your innocence you are liable to be imprudent.”
This was Percy’s mistaken view of Bertha, but she did not dislike it. She was so determined now to be completely open that she did not try to put him off, and said candidly: