At last, without raising her eyes, she said, "You and Lord Linden were having a very animated discussion. At one time I began to be afraid that you were quarrelling."
"We certainly never differed more. I doubt if we shall ever be friends again."
This assertion was uttered so earnestly that Bertha involuntarily looked up into Gaston's face. It was flushed by his recent anger, and the expression of his countenance betokened perplexity mingled with vexation.
What woman ever saw the man she loved out of temper without seeking to pour oil upon the troubled waters, even at the risk of being charged with her sex's constitutional curiosity? for an attempt to soothe includes a desire to fathom the secret cause of annoyance. If there be women who are not stirred by impulses of this kind they are cast in moulds the very opposite to that of Bertha.
She said, in a soft and winning tone, "Has he done you wrong?"
"He has grossly wronged one whom I esteem more highly, perhaps, than any woman,—any being living," answered Gaston, firing up at the recollection of Lord Linden's insinuations; then he corrected himself. "I should have said any—any oth—oth—other—but"—
"It was a woman—a lady, then, whom he wronged?" inquired Bertha, betraying redoubled interest at this inadvertent admission.
Gaston perceived that he had said too much; but, in adding nothing more, he did not extricate himself from the difficulty. His silence could only be interpreted into an affirmative.
"And one whom you esteem more highly than all others?" persisted Bertha. "Whom do you esteem so highly as Madeleine? Surely it could not have been Madeleine? Lord Linden did not speak disrespectfully of Madeleine?"