“A little, but I don’t think it matters. I think she’s needed as a contrast to you. She surprises and shocks him, and that amuses him, but she isn’t his real taste. I don’t think Miss Chivvey’s dangerous, seriously. She uses cheap scent.”
“Oh!” cried Madeline, delighted. “There’s nothing so awful as cheap scent!”
“Except expensive scent, because it’s stronger,” said Bertha.
Madeline looked at her admiringly.
“How extraordinary you are, Bertha! It’s wonderfully sweet of you to take such an interest in my wretched little romance. You might have so many of your own, if you cared to.”
“Ah, but I don’t care to. I’m rather exacting in a way, but I don’t want variety. I’ve no desire for an audience. I don’t want a little of everybody. All I want is the whole of one person.”
“Is that all! Well, you’ve got it,” replied Madeline.
“I hope so,” she answered, rather seriously. “I’m not altogether satisfied. I can’t settle down to the idea of a dull, humdrum sort of life—and of Percy’s being fond of me casually.”
“Oh, good gracious, I’m sure he isn’t casual! What a strange idea of yours!”
“I hope I’m wrong. I believe I want something that’s very nearly impossible. I’ve always had a sort of ideal or dream of making an ordinary average married life into a romance.”