and--when he called here, he was
more polite to him than he had ever been to Mr. Brent. He seemed almost
as if he liked him. He actually asked him to dinner two or three times.
After dinner, he would go out of the room and leave us together. Oh,
Betty!" clinging to her hands, "I was so wretched then, that sometimes
I thought I was going out of my mind. I think I looked wild. I used to
kneel down and try to pray, and I could not."

"Yes, yes," said Betty.

"I used to feel that if I could only have one friend, just one, I
could bear it better. Once I said something like that to Nigel. He only
shrugged his shoulders and sneered when I said it. But afterwards I
knew he had remembered. One evening, when he had asked Mr. Ffolliott to
dinner, he led him to talk about religion. Oh, Betty! It made my blood
turn cold when he began. I knew he was doing it for some wicked reason.
I knew the look in his eyes and the awful, agreeable smile on his mouth.
When he said at last, 'If you could help my poor wife to find comfort in
such things,' I began to see. I could not explain to anyone how he did
it, but with just a sentence, dropped here and there, he seemed to tell
the whole story of a silly, selfish, American girl, thwarted in her
vulgar little ambitions, and posing as a martyr, because she could
not have her own way in everything. He said once, quite casually, 'I'm
afraid American women are rather spoiled.' And then he said, in the
same tolerant way--'A poor man is a disappointment to an American girl.
America does not believe in rank combined with lack of fortune.' I dared
not defend myself. I am not clever enough to think of the right things
to say. He meant Mr. Ffolliott to understand that I had married him
because I thought he was grand and rich, and that I was a disappointed
little spiteful shrew. I tried to act as if he was not hurting me, but
my hands trembled, and a lump kept rising in my throat. When we returned
to the drawing-room, and at last he left us together, I was praying and
praying that I might be able to keep from breaking down."

She stopped and swallowed hard. Betty held her hands firmly until she
went on.

"For a few minutes, I sat still, and tried to think of some new
subject--something about the church or the village. But I could not
begin to speak because of the lump in my throat. And then, suddenly, but
quietly, Mr. Ffolliott got up. And though I dared not lift my eyes, I
knew he was standing before th