d you, Bertha! All I can say is, behaviour more
disgraceful I _never_--"

The poor lady's feelings were too much for her. She retreated to her
bedroom, and there passed the greater part of the day. But in the
evening curiosity overcame her sullenness. Having obtained as much
information about the artist's marriage as Bertha could give her, she
relieved herself in an acrimonious criticism of him and Miss Elvan.

"I never liked to say what I really thought of that girl," were her
concluding words. "Now your eyes are opened. Of course you'll never see
her again?"

"Why, mother?" asked Bertha. "I'm very glad she has married Mr. Franks.
I always hoped she would, and felt pretty sure of it."

"And you mean to be friends with them both?"

"Why not?--But don't let us talk about that," Bertha added
good-humouredly. "I should only vex you. There's something else I want
to tell you, something you'll really be amused to hear."

"Your ideas of amusement, Bertha--"

"Yes, yes, but listen. It's about Mr. Jollyman. Who do you think Mr.
Jollyman really is?"

Mrs. Cross heard the story with bent brows and lips severely set.

"And why didn't you tell me this before, pray?"

"I hardly know," answered the girl, thoughtfully, smiling. "Perhaps
because I waited to hear more to make the revelation more complete.
But--"

"And this," exclaimed Mrs. Cross, "is why you wouldn't go to the shop
yesterday?"

"Yes," was the frank reply. "I don't think I shall go again."

"And, pray, why not?"

Bertha was silent.

"There's one very disagreeable thing in your character, Bertha,"
remarked her mother severely, "and that is your habit of hiding and
concealing. To think that you found this out more than a week ago!
You're very, very unlike your father. _He_ never kept a thing from me,
never for an hour. But you are always _full_ of secrets. It isn't
nice--it isn't at all nice."

Since her husband's death Mrs. Cross had never ceased discovering his
virtues. When he lived, one of the reproaches with which she constantly
soured his existence was that of secretiveness. And Bertha, who knew
something and suspected more of the truth in this matter, never felt it
so hard to bear with her mother as when Mrs. Cross bestowed such
retrospective praise.

"I have thought it over," she said quietly, disregarding the reproof,
"and on the whole I had rather not go again to the shop."

Thereupon Mrs. Cross grew angry, and for half an hour clamoured a