“I don’t know; if he does, he wastes his emotions,” I replied.
“I am glad you think so. He takes a good deal of interest in your welfare, and I suppose he could be prevailed upon to give you wise advice in case of need.”
“I dare say. Fred is a good fellow, and advice is as cheap as dirt.”
“And pity?”
“Pity! Why do you think Fred pities me? Why should he pity me?”
“Your question is hypocritical, because you know very well that he thinks you are a victim,—a victim of a terrible mother-in-law.”
It was the first time she had ever spoken out so openly. I said,—
“We will leave it to Bessie. Bessie, do I look like a victim?”
“No,” said Bessie, “but you are both the queerest puzzles! Mamma is always her dearest self when you are away, Charlie. You don’t know each other at all yet. When you are together you are both horrid, and when you are apart you are both lovely. And yet I don’t know why it should be so; there is no quarrel between you—and—and—”
And Bessie began to cry. I got up.