I should be spared suffering."
The countess-dowager paused. "Spared suffering!" she mentally repeated;
and being a woman given to arriving at rapid conclusions without rhyme or
reason, she bethought herself that Maude must have become acquainted with
the suspicion regarding her heart.
"Who told you that?" shrieked the dowager. "It was that fool Hartledon."
"He has told me nothing," said Maude, in an access of resentment, all too
visible. "Told me what?"
"Why, about your heart. That's what I suppose it is."
Maude raised herself upon her elbow, her wan face fixed on her mother's.
"Is there anything the matter with my heart?" she calmly asked.
And then the old woman found that she had made a grievous mistake, and
hastened to repair it.
"I thought there might be, and asked Pepps. I've just asked him now; and
he's says there's nothing the matter with it."
"I wish there were!" said Maude.
"You wish there were! That's a pretty wish for a reasonable Christian,"
cried the tart dowager. "You want your husband to lecture you; saying
such things."
"I wish he were hanged!" cried Maude, showing her glistening teeth.
"My gracious!" exclaimed the wondering old lady, after a pause. "What has
he done?"
"Why did you urge me to marry him? Oh, mother, can't you see that I am
dying--dying of horror--and shame--and grief? You had better have buried
me instead.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462