"Is it? I will never use it again.... And what does she mean by calling you trying
you, of all men in the world? Trying, indeed! She must be very bad-tempered and
how dare she say such a thing?"
"She is not at all bad-tempered—on the contrary, she is considered extremely amiable. I think she is, myself."
"Who couldn't be—with you? She can't help herself."
"But you were just saying how I once put you in a temper."
Cynthia's eyes darkened with reproach.
"I loved you. That made it another matter—and besides, it was all my fault. There! Have I not suffered enough for it?"
"Has no one else suffered?"
"Well, yes," said Cynthia. "I dare say poor Edward had rather a life of it."
He had no answer for that.
"Did you ever wonder what we should say to each other, if we met again?" said Cynthia. " I have, often. I used to think I should say, 'How do you do, Mr. Provence? How is your wife, and the baby? Isn't it a curious day?' and then I thought we should shake hands very stiffly, and perhaps you might introduce me to your wife and—and—"
"And that I should hate her with all my might, and go home and say what a hideous gown she had on and—howl. It only shows that things never happen the way you think they will. To begin with, I knew, the moment I saw you, that it would be quite, quite impossible to call you Mr. Provence. Then