In less than an hour his card was brought to Bertha as she sat with her
children. She read it with a beating heart, and, having done so, put
down Meg and her picture-book.
"I will go down at once," she said to the servant.
In two minutes she was standing in the middle of the parlor, and her
guest was holding her hand in his, and looking at her earnestly and
curiously.
"You didn't expect to see me here, did you?" he said.
"No," she answered; "but you are kind to come."
"I didn't expect to be here myself," he said. "Where is your husband?
Somebody told me he had gone away."
"He is in New York," she replied.
He gave her one of his sharp glances and drew her toward a chair.
"Sit down by me," he said. "You are in no condition to be kept standing.
I want to talk to you. You mustn't look like that," he said. "It won't
do. You are worn out, but you mustn't give up. I have come to order you
to do something."
"I will do anything you tell me," she answered.
"You will? Well, that's good! I thought you would, too. I want you to
take me to this ball that is to be given to-morrow night."
She started in amazement.
"To the ball!" she exclaimed.
"Surprises you, doesn't it? I supposed it would; it surprises me a
little, but I want to go nevertheless, and I have a reason."
"I am sure it is a good one," she said.
"It is," he answered. "None but the best would take me there. I never
went to a ball in my life. _You_ are the reason. I am going to take care
of _you_."
A faint, sad smile touched her lips.
"Some one has said something more against me," she said, "and you want
to defend me. Don't take the trouble. It is not worth while."
"The place is full of lies about you," he answered, suddenly and
fiercely. "And I _am_ going to defend you. No one else can. They are
lies that concern me as well as you."
"Will you tell me what they are?" she asked.
He saw there was no room for hesitation, and told her what the facts
were. As he spoke he felt that they did not improve in the relation, and
he saw the blood rise to her cheeks, and a light grow in her eyes. When
he had finished the light was a brilliant spark of fire.
"It is a charming story," she said.
"_We_ will show them what sort of a story it is," he answered,
"to-morrow night!"
"You are very good to me," she said.
Suddenly she put her hand to her side.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "it seems very strange that they should be saying
these things of Bertha Amory."
She looked at him with a hopeless appeal in her eyes.
"Do they all believe them?" she said. "Ah, how can they? They know I was
not--like that! I have not done anything! I have been unhappy, but--but
I"--
She stopped a moment--or was stopped by her breaking voice.
"This has been too much for you," he said. "You are ill, child!"
"I have been ill for some time," she answered. "And the last few days
have been very hard."
She made an effort to recover herself.
"I will go to the ball," she said, "if you think it best."
"It _is_ best," he replied. "And you need not be afraid"--
"I am not afraid," she interposed, quickly, and the spark of fire showed
itself in her eyes again. "I might allow myself to be beaten, if it were
not for my children; but, as it is, you will see that I will not be
beaten. I will be well for to-morrow night at least. I will not look
like a victim. They will see that I am not afraid."
"It is they who will be beaten," said Blundel, "if anything depends on
me! Confound it! I shall _like_ to do it."