In her heart she was wondering: could she ever forget what Bertram had said?
Would anything ever blot out those awful words: "If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little less--"?
It seemed now that always, for evermore, they would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper and deeper into her soul.

And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he referred to them--those words he had uttered.

He had not said he did not mean them.

He had not said he was sorry he spoke them.

He had ignored them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them.