"I wish I had a big bet on that. I wish someone would bet me my old dear home, my Oakdean, upon that. I should be a happy girl again."
A great sadness grows within her eyes.
"Tita, you could be happy if you chose."
"You are always saying that," says Lady Rylton, looking full at her.
"But how—how can I be happy!"
"See Maurice! Make it up with him. Put an end to this foolish quarrel."
"What should I gain by agreeing to live again with a man who cares nothing for me? I tell you, Margaret, that I desire no great things. I did not expect to wring from life extraordinary joys. I have never been exorbitant in my demands. I did not even ask that Maurice should love me. I asked only that he should like me—be—be fond of me. I"—her voice beginning to tremble—"have had so few people to be fond of me; and to live with anyone, Margaret, to see him all day long, and know he cared nothing for me, that he thought me in his way, that he so hated me that he couldn't speak to me without scolding me, or saying hurtful words! Oh, no! I could not do that again."
"Maurice has been most unfortunate," says Margaret, very sadly. "Do you really believe all this of him, Tita?"
"I believe he loved Mrs. Bethune all the time," returns she simply. "And even if it be true what you say, that he does not love her now—still he does not love me either."
"And you?"
"Oh, I—I am like the 'miller of the Dee.'" She had been on the verge of tears, but now she laughs.