“No, no, no, Mr Vine—I mean no, no, no, George Vine,” sobbed Mrs Van Heldre; “I did, I know, feel bitter and full of hatred against one who could be so base as to raise his hand against my loving, forbearing husband; but that was when I was in misery and despair. Do you think that now God has blessed us by sparing his life and restoring him to us, I could be so thankless, hard and wicked as to bear malice?”
“You are very, very good,” said Vine sadly.
“I wish I was,” said Mrs Van Heldre, with a comic look of perplexity on her pretty, elderly countenance, “but I’m not, George, I’m a very curious woman.”
“You are one of the best and most amiable creatures that ever existed,” said Vine, taking her hand and kissing it.
“I try to be good-tempered and to do my best,” said the little woman with a sigh, “but I’m very weak and stupid; and I know that is the one redeeming point in my character, I can feel what a weak woman I am.”
“Thank God you are what you are,” said Vine reverently. “If I had had such a wife spared to me all these years, that terrible catastrophe would not have occurred.”
“And you, George Vine, thank God, too, for sparing to you the best and most loving daughter that ever lived. Now, now, now, don’t look like that. I wanted to tell you how fond and patient John always has been with me, and Maddy too, when I have said and done weak and silly things. For I do, you know, sometimes. Ah, it’s no use for you to shake your head, and pretend you never noticed it. You must.”
“I hope you will never change,” said Vine with a sad smile.
“Ah, that’s better,” cried Mrs Van Heldre. “I’m glad to see you smile again, for Louy’s sake, for our sake: and now, once for all, never come into our house again, my dear old friend and brother, looking constrained. John has had long, long talks with me and Maddy.”
“Yes,” cried Vine excitedly. “What did he say?”