"Then why does he do it?" Bettina demanded. "Why doesn't he give up his surgery? He has enough to do with his freaks at the sanatorium, and his sick people who need medicine."
"Would you have a man give up a thing which he can do better than other men?"
Sophie, looking on, wondered if there had ever been a greater contrast than these two women who faced each other in the rose-colored room. Diana, tall and pale, with wisps of hair flying a bit untidily from beneath her soft hat, yet still beautiful and with the light of high resolve shining in her steady eyes; Bettina, a little slender slip of a child, her fair shining braids falling below her knees, her eyes demanding why men and women should be dedicated to hardness.
"I have been telling Bettina," Mrs. Martens interposed, gently, "that she will understand some day what such a man means to the world."
For once in her life Diana, tired Diana, lost patience. "She ought to know what such a man means," she said.
Bettina put her hands before her face and stood very still.
"Oh, dear child," said Diana, remorsefully, "I shouldn't have said such a thing to you. I didn't mean it."
Bettina's hands dropped straight at her sides. Her blue eyes were misty. "But it's true," she said. "I'm afraid—I'm afraid I'm not the wife for Anthony."
Never had there been a truer saying. Yet the two older women stood abashed before the hurt look on the little white face.