“Do you think I am uncomplimentary? I’m not really, you know. Every one knows you’re a thousand times handsomer and cleverer than Bertha; but then you’re not nasty. And for always getting what she wants in the long run, commend me to a nasty woman.”
Miss Bart stared in affected reproval. “I thought you were so fond of Bertha.”
“Oh, I am—it’s much safer to be fond of dangerous people. But she IS dangerous—and if I ever saw her up to mischief it’s now. I can tell by poor George’s manner. That man is a perfect barometer—he always knows when Bertha is going to——”
“To fall?” Miss Bart suggested.
“Don’t be shocking! You know he believes in her still. And of course I don’t say there’s any real harm in Bertha. Only she delights in making people miserable, and especially poor George.”
“Well, he seems cut out for the part—I don’t wonder she likes more cheerful companionship.”
“Oh, George is not as dismal as you think. If Bertha did worry him he would be quite different. Or if she’d leave him alone, and let him arrange his life as he pleases. But she doesn’t dare lose her hold of him on account of the money, and so when HE isn’t jealous she pretends to be.”
Miss Bart went on writing in silence, and her hostess sat following her train of thought with frowning intensity.
“Do you know,” she exclaimed after a long pause, “I believe I’ll call up Lawrence on the telephone and tell him he simply MUST come?”
“Oh, don’t,” said Lily, with a quick suffusion of colour. The blush surprised her almost as much as it did her hostess, who, though not commonly observant of facial changes, sat staring at her with puzzled eyes.