“I’m very sorry,” laughed Bertha. “I forgot what I was doing. Let’s begin all over again.”
“No, I’m not going to sing any more. You spoil the whole thing.”
“Mrs. Craddock has no heart,” said Miss Hancock.
“I don’t think it’s fair to laugh at an old song like this,” said Edward. “After all any one can sneer.... My idea of music is something that stirs one’s heart—I’m not a sentimental chap, but Ben Bolt almost brings the tears to my eyes every time I sing it.”
Bertha with difficulty abstained from retorting that sometimes she also felt inclined to weep—especially when he sang out of tune. Every one looked at her, as if she had behaved very badly, while she calmly smiled at Edward. But she was not amused. On the way home she asked him if he knew why she had spoilt his song.
“I’m sure I don’t know—unless you were in one of your beastly tempers. I suppose you’re sorry now.”
“Not at all,” she answered, laughing. “I thought you were rude to me just before, and I wanted to punish you a little. Sometimes you’re really too supercilious.... And besides that, I object to being found fault with in public. You will have the goodness in future to keep your strictures till we are alone.”
“I should have thought you could stand a bit of good-natured chaff by now.”
“Oh, I can, dear Edward. Only, perhaps, you may have noticed that I am fairly quick at defending myself.”
“What d’you mean by that?”