“Bertha you’ve come. I felt certain you wouldn’t let me go without seeing you.”
He took her hands and looked at her with eyes full of love.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said at last. “I want—I want to beg your pardon.”
“What do you mean?” whispered Bertha, and suddenly she felt a dreadful fear which gripped her heart with unendurable pain.
“I’ve been thinking of you all night, and I’m dreadfully ashamed of myself. I must tell you how sorry I am that I’ve caused you unhappiness. I was selfish and brutal; I only thought of myself. I forgot how much you had to lose. Please forgive me, Bertha.”
“Oh, Gerald, Gerald.”
“I shall always be grateful to you, Bertha. I know I’ve been a beast, but now I’m going to turn over a new leaf. You see, you have reformed me after all.”
He tried to smile in his old, light-hearted manner; but it was a very poor attempt. Bertha looked at him. She wished to say that she loved him with all her heart, and was ready to accompany him to the world’s end; but the words stuck in her throat.
“I don’t know what has happened to me,” he said, “but I seem to see everything now so differently. Of course it is much better that I’m going away; but it’s dreadfully hard.”
An inspector came to look at the tickets. “Is the lady going?”