“Poor fellow!” said Miss Glover. “He has such a good heart.”
Bertha could hardly repress the bitter invective that rose to her lips. If people knew the coldness with which he had met her love, the indifference he had shown to her tears and to her despair! She despised herself when she remembered the utter self-abasement of the past.
“He made me drink the cup of humiliation to the very dregs.”
From the height of her disdain she summed him up for the thousandth time. It was inexplicable that she had been subject to a man so paltry in mind, so despicable in character. It made her blush with shame to think how servile had been her love.
Dr. Ramsay, who was visiting Bertha for some trivial ill, happened to come in when she was engaged with such thoughts.
“Well,” he said, as soon as he had taken breath. “And how is Edward to-day?”
“Good heavens, how should I know?” she cried, beside herself, the words slipping out unawares after the long constraint.
“Hulloa, what’s this? Have the turtle-doves had a tiff at last?”
“Oh, I’m sick of continually hearing Edward’s praises. I’m sick of being treated as an appendage to him.”
“What’s the matter with you, Bertha?” said the doctor, bursting into a shout of laughter. “I always thought nothing pleased you more than to hear how much we all liked your husband.”