“Yes. And, as I told you, I thought this rather serious, so I wrote and invited the young lady to lunch with me.”
“Did she accept?”
“That is what I’ve come to tell you about to-day. She was engaged, but asked me to invite her another time.”
“Exactly. Now, Nigel, I want to tell you something. I think I’ve been doing wrong intriguing for Madeline, and it hasn’t been fair to her really. I’ve decided to tell her what you told me about Rupert, and then leave things to take their course. And I oughtn’t to countenance asking the other girl to lunch. It was horrid of me—I’m ashamed of myself, both on account of her and of Mary. Don’t do it; I’d rather not.”
Nigel looked up at her sharply.
“Do these sudden and violent scruples mean simply that you don’t want me any more?”
“A little,” she replied.
“I’ve noticed you’ve seemed very cold and unkind to me the last week or so,” he said. “You seem to be trying to change our relations.”
“I don’t see why we should have any relations,” answered Bertha. “After all, I know instinctively that Mary doesn’t like me.”
“What in heaven’s name does that matter?” he asked.