Bird of Paradise Part 27

"Yes, I am," she answered.

At this moment a small crowd of people came in at the door. Mary, who was with them, looked hurriedly round the room, and seeing Bertha and Nigel in the corner, called him, taking no notice of her.

Bertha half rose, intending to go and shake hands with her, and Nigel quickly went to meet her, but Bertha paused, thinking Mary looked strange. She was very pale, and the white dress she wore made her look paler against her dull red hair. She wore a tiara, which seemed a little crooked, and her hair was disarranged. She was pale and trembling, but spoke in a loud voice that Bertha could hear. Within two yards of her, she said to Nigel, gesticulating with a feather fan:

"If you don't make that woman go away at once, I shall make a public scene!"

Bertha started up and looked at her in astonishment.

Mary, glaring at her, and still talking loudly, allowed Nigel to lead her out of the room.

He then came back.

"I think my wife's gone mad! Forgive her. She's ill, or something."

"I'm going now at once," said Bertha calmly. "Have a cab called for me, and let Madeline know that the motor will be here for her at half-past twelve. Leave me now--I don't want anything."

"For G.o.d's sake forgive me. She's off her head," said Nigel incoherently.

At her wish he ran upstairs.

Bertha got her cloak, and telling a friend she met that she was going on to a dance, she got into a taxi and went home.

CHAPTER XXII

BERTHA AT HOME

Bertha drove back, furiously angry, princ.i.p.ally with Nigel, whom she also pitied a little. It could be no joke to live with a woman like his wife. But he should not have deceived Bertha; he should have let her know; he should not have induced her to come against Percy's wish, at the risk of being insulted.

She was not anxious about Madeline, knowing that that sensible young lady would go to her own home when the carriage came, and that she could explain matters to her the next morning. Madeline was not _une faiseuse d'embarras_.

Bertha had brought her key as Percy had promised to wait up for her; the servants were to be allowed to go to bed. It was not long after twelve; she saw a light in the library and went in, fully intending to tell Percy everything.

She found him sitting by the fire, with a book. He had fallen asleep.

She watched him for some moments, and she thought he looked pale and a little worried. ... How wilful, how foolish it had been of her to go to the party without him! What did it matter? How trivial to insist on her own way! How ungrateful! For lately Percy had been devoted. And how lucky she was that he should care for her so much, after all these years.

As Bertha watched, she felt that strange suffering which is always the other side of intense love--the reverse of the medal of the ecstasy of pa.s.sion--and she thought she would tell him nothing about it. Why should he be hurt, annoyed, and humiliated? It would spoil all the pleasure of her coming back so early--the unexpected delightful time they might have. ... In this Bertha committed an error of judgment, for she forgot that he would probably hear of the scene some time or other, and would attach more importance to it than if she told him now.

"Percy," she whispered.

He woke up.

"You already! Why, it's only twelve o'clock! Oh, dear, how good of you to come so early."

"I didn't enjoy myself a bit," she murmured. "I'll never go out without you again. Do forgive me for going!"

"How is it you didn't enjoy it?"

"Because you hadn't seen me in my new dress. Do I look like a canary?"

"No," he said. "Let me look at you. No, you're not a canary--you're a Bird of Paradise."

CHAPTER XXIII

NIGEL'S LETTER

Next morning, as Bertha expected, Madeline came round to see her early.

She brought with her a note. She said that Nigel had implored her to give it to her friend from him. He had put Madeline in the carriage, and had seemed greatly distressed. He told the girl that his wife had been ill lately and was not quite herself, and he feared she had offended Bertha.

"She certainly behaved like a lunatic," Bertha said, as she took the letter.

"Did you tell Percy?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Didn't he wonder at your coming home so early?"

"I'm afraid I pretended I rushed back to please him. Was it wrong of me?

I'm afraid it was."

"I believe in frankness with people you can trust. And remember, quite a little while ago, Bertha, you were worried and depressed because you thought Percy was becoming a little casual and like an ordinary husband, and now, you naughty child, that he's been so _empresse_ and affectionate, and jealous and attentive and everything that you like--now you first insist on going to a party when he doesn't wish it, and then you come home and tell him stories about it."

"I'm afraid I was wrong; but it was to spare him annoyance. Besides, I daresay I was weak. It was so delightful giving him a pleasant surprise."

She read the letter.

"Forgive me for asking your friend to give you this note--I only did it because I feared in writing to you to refer to what happened. Is it asking too much, Bertha, to beg you not to resent it? Not to hate me for to-night? Think of my shame and misery about it--to think I had pressed and begged you to come to be insulted in my house. You see now what I have tried to conceal. I am utterly miserable. My wife is terrible and impossible. Seeing you occasionally had been my one joy--my only consolation. And only to-night--before--you had been telling me not to come and see you any more. Now I feel our friendship is all over. I could not expect you to see me again. You are such an angel, that you will, if I ask you, I believe, try to wipe out from your memory this horrible evening! I would rather have died than it should have happened. Of course, you see now that by instinct Mary guessed right--I mean in knowing my feeling for you--though heaven knows I haven't deserved this. She's screaming for me, and I must stop. All I ask is, don't hate me!

I'm so miserable when I think that you, beautiful angel as you are, might have belonged to me. I doubt if I shall be able to live this life much longer.

"In humblest apology, and with that deep feeling that writing can never express, your idolising

"NIGEL.

"_P.S._--I ought not to have written that. But I fear so much that I may not see you again, and that this may be my last letter, and I feel I would like you to know honestly all I feel for you. But words may not bear such burdens. Send me one word, only one word of pardon."

Bertha was obviously shocked and surprised at this letter. She folded it up, looking grave. Then she said to Madeline:

"What a very extraordinary thing it has been that both Mary and Percy have been suspicious and jealous of Nigel and myself, while there's been absolutely nothing in it!"