I felt that all the burning colour had deserted my cheeks; they were cold and white enough now. So Ida Lorimer had been making scornful remarks about me, and my husband had agreed with all that she had said!
I sat down again in my place at the table, and presently the maid came in with chops, which had been cooked for our landlord, and were now placed before Ronald. He began to eat with good appetite, although the fare was plain; and it was clear that he had not noticed the effect of his words.
"Why can't you cheer up, Louie?" he said, after a pause. "Why will you persist in giving people the impression that you are a wretched wife? I know we have had our troubles, pet, but they are over now, and better days are coming. You are growing as thin as a lath, and you 'gang like a ghaist.' What can be done with you?"
There was an undertone of impatience running through the apparent kindness of his words. I sat desperately trying to swallow scraps of mutton, which seemed as tasteless as if I had been eating in a dream. He was expecting a reply, and by-and-by I spoke in a choked voice.
"I am not very strong, Ronald; but as to giving people the impression that I am wretched, that can hardly be done; I am not often seen. Of course I don't appear to advantage beside a woman who has never had anything but prosperity."
"Oh, you mean Ida Lorimer. Well, you see, she doesn't take things to heart as you do."
"That I can quite believe, Ronald. Indeed, I think it is doubtful whether she has any heart at all."
"That's what the sentimental women always say of the matter-of-fact ones," he remarked, laughing.
Where was my good angel at that moment? Out leaped the sharp retort, swift as lightning.
"I am sorry that you did not marry a matter-of-fact one. She would have suited you much better than I do."