Bird of Paradise Part 40

Should she tell her?

Could she let her remain in ignorance of this until afterwards? She would find it out when she went home.

"I want to speak to you very much, Mrs. Kellynch. ... It is very awkward, but I feel I must."

"Have some tea first," said Bertha, and while she poured it out and pa.s.sed it to Mrs. Hillier she felt she could no longer leave her in ignorance of her appearance.

She pointed to the silver looking-gla.s.s that stood on a small table, and said: "Mrs. Hillier, just look at that. I fancy you've put something on your face by mistake. Do forgive me!"

Mary gave a shriek.

"Good heavens, how horrible! I must have put rouge on instead of powder!

I look like a comic actor!"

Both of them laughed, and this rather cleared the air.

"It was very good of you to tell me," said Mary. "Thank you. It's so like me! When I'm agitated I become too appallingly absent-minded for words. That's the sort of thing I do. How you must sneer--I mean, laugh at me, Mrs. Kellynch!"

"Indeed not! What an idea. It could happen to anyone."

"Well, I came to see you for two reasons. One is this: Mrs. Kellynch, I want to beg your pardon. I'm very, very sorry."

"For what, Mrs. Hillier?"

"For many things. I was horribly rude--I behaved shamefully at my party the other day. I must have been mad. I was so miserable." She said this in a low voice.

Bertha held out her hand. The poor girl--she was not much more--looked so miserable, and had just looked so absurd! It must have been such a humiliation to know that one had called on one's rival got up like a comedian--a singer of comic songs at the Pavilion.

"Mrs. Hillier, don't say any more. I quite forgive you, and will not think of it again. Don't let us talk of it any more. Have some more tea?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Kellynch. This isn't all. I have something else to tell you, and then I want, if I may, to consult you. I did a dreadful, dreadful thing! I don't know how I could! Oh, when I see you--when I look at you and see how sweet and kind you are----"

Bertha, terrified that Mary would begin to cry and get hysterical, tried to stop her.

"Don't, Mrs. Hillier. Don't tell me any more. It might--I guess what you are going to say--I know it might have caused great trouble. But it didn't. So never mind. You were upset--didn't think."

"Oh no, Mrs. Kellynch; you must let me confess it. I sha'n't be at peace till I do. I want to tell--my husband--that I confessed and apologised.

I actually wrote----"

"Really, all this is unnecessary. You are giving us both unnecessary pain," said Bertha. "I know it--I guess it. Won't you leave it at that?

All traces of--the trouble were destroyed, and, if you want to be kind to me now, you'll not speak of it any more."

Mary had begun to cry, but she controlled herself, seeing it would please Bertha best.

"Very well, I'll say no more. Only do, _do_ try to forgive me."

"I do with all my heart."

"Then you're angelic. Thank you." After a moment's pause, Mary put away her handkerchief.

"Have a cigarette," suggested Bertha, who hardly knew what to do to compose her agitated visitor.

"No, no, thank you. Mrs. Kellynch, may I really ask you a great, _great_ favour?"

"Please do."

"May I consult you? I'm _so_ miserable--I'm wretched. Nigel has gone away and left me!"

"Gone away."

"Yes."

"But he'll come back? Surely, he means to come back?"

"I _hope_ so. But he never left me before. Never since we have been married! And I am miserable. What shall I do--what can I do to make him fond of me?"

This pathetic question brought tears to Bertha's eyes. She was truly sorry for the poor little creature.

"Is he angry with you then?"

"He's not exactly angry, now. He has been very kind. He has behaved beautifully. But he said he must go away for a time, and when he came back he would not refer to--to the subject of our quarrel again."

"Well, that's all right then. There is no cause for being unhappy. It's nothing his going away for a week or two."

"He says six weeks. Six long, dreadful weeks!"

"Even _six_ weeks--it's nothing. After, you'll both be much happier, I'm sure," said Bertha consolingly. "Sometimes there is a sort of strain and a change is needed. It will be all right."

"But, Mrs. Kellynch, you don't know--you don't understand. I have always been so terribly, madly jealous. I have worried him into it. You see--I can't help it, I love him so much! I do love him. You can't imagine what it is!"

"Indeed I can!" cried Bertha. "I care _quite_ as much for Percy. You can't think how much."

"Really and truly? But that's so different, because _he_ cares quite as much for you."

"Indeed, I hope so," said Bertha seriously.

"Yes. But Nigel doesn't--he's kind, but I don't think he cares much about me. What shall I do?"

Bertha paused, deeply sorry. Then she said:

"Nonsense! Of course he does, but you--if you'll excuse my saying so--you seem to worry him, to bother him with imaginary grievances, with unjust suspicious. What man will bear that?"

"Then will you tell me what to do?" she asked, like a child.

"First, don't beg him to come back. Write kindly, unselfishly, cheerfully."

"Cheerfully! Oh, I can't."