Also he was not in the least surprised about the incident in the cab.
Rupert was on the whole irritating. Nigel was glad to leave him.
CHAPTER XXXV
TWO WOMEN
BERTHA was very much surprised at Mary’s wishing to see her. She thought it most extraordinary and was much inclined to refuse, remembering the strangely insulting way Mary had behaved at her party. Nigel had apologised indeed; had implored for forgiveness; and she had written to say it was forgotten. But it is not an easy thing to forget.
Percy had given a mild version of his interview with Nigel. He had also told her now about the destroyed letters. Bertha was certainly vexed that she had not been told before. It would have, at least, prevented her going to the party. However, she was soon tired of the subject and agreed with Percy not to mention it again. Bertha was, as she said herself, nothing of a harpist. She could not go on playing on one string. She made up her mind to forget it. She had begun to do so when Mary’s telephone message reached her.
Bertha was sitting by the fire when Mary was shown in. She looked at her most serene, her calmest and prettiest. It was not in her nature to bear malice nor even to be angry for more than a few hours about anything. By the end of that time she was always inclined to see the humorous side of anything, and to see that it was of less importance than appeared. She had already laughed several times to herself at the mere thought of the absurdity of a hostess asking one to her house and then behaving as Mary had done. Also she saw a comic—though pathetic—side to the typewritten letters. But it was painful, too, and she would very much rather have avoided this visit from Mrs. Hillier. It must be embarrassing for her, at least, and could hardly be other than disagreeable.
Mary came in looking very pale and rather untidy. In the excitement of her mind and her general perturbation she had come out with two left-handed gloves, and during the whole of her visit endeavoured to force a left hand into a right-hand glove. It was maddening to watch her.
Just as she started to go to see Bertha, poor Mary had gone to her toilet-table and put what she supposed to be powder lavishly on her nose without again looking in the glass. It was red rouge—the reddest and brightest. Although she afterwards rubbed a little of it off, she never saw herself in the glass again before starting. The result of this was to give her that touch of the grotesque that is so fatal to any scene of a serious nature but that in this case appealed to Bertha’s kindness and sympathy rather than her sense of humour.