You can have no
notion, my dear, of the compliments one calls down on one's head by so
doing. The case is beyond my grasp, of course, and I am cloaking my own
shortcomings by making scandalous insinuations against a delicate lady,
who 'takes no more than her position entitles her to'--his very words,
Mary!--'for the purpose of keeping up her strength.'" And Mahony
laughed hotly.
"Yes, but was it--I mean. . . was it really necessary to say it?"
stammered Mary still at sea. And as her husband only shrugged his
shoulders: "Then I can't pretend to be surprised at what has happened,
Richard. Mr. Henry will NEVER forgive you. He thinks so much of
everything and every one belonging to him."
"Pray, can I help that? . . . help his infernal pride? And, good God,
Mary, can't you see that, far more terrible than my having had to tell
him the truth, is the fact of there being such a truth to tell?"
"Oh yes, indeed I can," and the warm tears rushed to Mary's eyes. "Poor,
poor little Agnes!--Richard, it comes of her having once been married
to that dreadful man. And though she doesn't say so, yet I don't believe
she's really happy in her second marriage either. There are so many
things she's not allowed to do--and she's afraid of Mr. Henry, I know
she is. You see he's displeased when she's dull or unwell; she must
always be bright and look pretty; and I expect the truth is, since her
illness she has taken to taking things, just to keep her spirits up.
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