"Oh! I don't know," said Marcella, impatiently, raising her shoulders. "But she jarred. I pined to get away—I don't think I ever want to talk to her again."
"No," said Betty, ruminating; "I'll tell you what it is—she isn't a gentleman! Don't interrupt me! I mean exactly what I say—she isn't a gentleman. She would do and say all the things that a nice man squirms at. I always have the oddest fancy about that kind of person. I see them as they must be at night—all the fine clothes gone—just a little black soul scrawled between the bedclothes!"
"You to call me censorious!" said Marcella, laughing, and pinching her friend's arm.
"My dear, as I have often before remarked to you, I am not a great lady, with a political campaign to tight. If you knew your business, you would make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness in the shape of Lady Tressadys. I may do what I please—I have only a husband to manage!" and Betty's light voice dropped into a sigh.
"Poor Betty!" said Marcella, patting her hand. "Is Frank as discontented as ever?"
"He told me yesterday he hated his existence, and thought he would try whether the Serpentine would drown him. I said I was agreeable, only he would never achieve it without me. I should have to 'tice away the police while he looked for the right spot. So he has promised to take me into partnership, and it's all right so far."
Then Betty fell to sighing in earnest.
"It's all very well 'chaffing,' but I am a miserable woman. Frank says I have ruined his life; that it's all my ambition; that he might have made a decent country gentleman if I hadn't sown the seed of every vice in him by driving him into politics. Pleasant, isn't it, for a model wife like me?"
"You'll have to let him give it up," said Marcella, smiling; "I don't believe he'll ever reconcile himself to the grind and the town life."
Betty clenched her small hands.