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194 “I wanted badly to see you this evening,” she said. “Addie was out with Henri and he told me that Henri was so depressed. And so I came round.”

“Henri?” said Bertha, vaguely. “I don’t think so; he seemed all right.”

“But Addie said. . .”

“What?”

“That he was so depressed.”

“Really? I didn’t notice it.”

“Well, perhaps Addie was mistaken,” said Constance, gently. “Come, I’ve seen you now, Bertha, and perhaps it’s better that I should go and let you rest.”

And she stooped again to kiss Bertha good-bye. But Bertha caught her by the hand:

“Do stay with me!” she said, hesitatingly.

“I am really afraid of disturbing you.”

“No, please stay!” said Bertha. “I think it’s nice of you to have come. You mustn’t think me indifferent; but what’s the use of talking? If one doesn’t talk, everything is so much simpler. Words always mean so much. . . . Don’t think me cold, Constance. I’m like that, you see: I never talk, to anybody. I prefer to withdraw into myself, when there’s anything the matter with me. But there’s nothing wrong now, I’m only a little tired. . . . Of course, I feel rather sad at Emilie’s going. But we must hope that she will be happy. Eduard is not a bad fellow; and why should Emilie have accepted him, if she didn’t care for him? . . . Do