“I sometimes think it might be better if I were a little of a flirt,” sighed Mary. “But I can’t—it’s not my nature—or, rather, I’m too busy always looking after Nigel!”
“Well, don’t do that so much and he’ll look after you all the more. Show interest in your appearance and society—let him be proud of you—and don’t be afraid of being fond of the children!”
“I’m really tremendously fond of them,” said Mary. “Only I was always so afraid he would think they would do instead of him! I have such a horror of his sending me off with them and thinking they will fill up all my life, while he was living like a gay bachelor! And when he was very sweet to them I really was jealous of them!”
“But all this is absurd. If you show your affection for them he will love you far more, and when he is devoted to them it shows he’s devoted to you. Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Hillier, you have had a sort of crisis. Do let it end there. Let things be different. He will be delighted to see you cheerful and jolly again. It’s all in your own hands, really.”
“Thank you. It was a shame to bother you.”
She got up to go.
“May I tell you, later on … how things are? I shall follow your advice exactly!”
Mary was looking at her now in a kind of worshipping gratitude and trust.
“Yes, do. But I know it will be all right. Only be a little patient just now. … He will miss you awfully, I know,” said Bertha, smiling.
“Oh! Will he really? How sweet of you to say that! Good-bye, Bertha. Dear Bertha, you have been kind. I’m so sorry.” Tears came to her eyes again, but as she passed the little mirror she began to laugh. “To think I should have come to see you for the first time got up like a dame in a pantomime. How grotesque!”