“No, no, my dear; not that at all. I’m sorry that you had to go through such an ordeal. But, Gertrude, you have something more to tell me—something more important.”
Gertrude Van Vleck drew herself up and looked at her friend searchingly.
“You are so hard to satisfy, Harriet,” she exclaimed at length. “Is it not enough that I have confessed to you that a man proposed to me last night, and that I rejected him. Really, my dear, you must check your awful appetite for gossip.”
Mrs. Percy-Bartlett arose, a hurt look on her face.
“I don’t wonder, Gertrude, that a good many people fear you. You say very cutting things at times.”
“Forgive me, Harriet,” cried Gertrude impulsively. “Come, sit down here. I didn’t mean to be sarcastic, my dear. That’s nice of you. Come close to me. Don’t you know, Harriet, that the penitent never tells quite all that is on her soul, at the confessional? You mustn’t expect too much of me. I’m only human, you know, my dear. What would a woman be without her secret? You must let me have mine, Harriet, and I will not ask for yours.”
Mrs. Percy-Bartlett flushed slightly as her eyes met Gertrude’s.
“Perhaps I was too exacting, Gertrude,” she said softly. “But I am so anxious to see you perfectly happy, that I let my wishes get the better of my discretion. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
“Anxious to see me perfectly happy,” repeated Gertrude musingly. “And that seems to mean, Harriet, that you would like to have me married.”
Mrs. Percy-Bartlett laughed nervously.