Why do you make it seem so ?" said Christian, still trembling.

And then, her courage breaking down under a cruel sense of wrong.

"Why can not you see that I am weak and worn out, longing for a little peace, and I can not get it?
I never did you any harm--it is not my fault that you hate me.

Why will you hunt me down and wear my life out, while I hear it all alone, and have never told my husband one single word?
It is cruel of you--cruel." She sobbed, till Arthur's sudden waking up--he had been fast asleep on the sofa, or she might not have given way so much--compelled her to restrain herself.
Miss Gascoigne was moved--at least as much as was in her nature to be.

She said hastily, "There--there--we will say no more about it;" took up her work, and busied herself therewith.
For Aunt Maria, she did as she had been doing throughout the contest-- the only thing Aunt Maria ever had strength to do--she remained neutral and passive--cried and knitted--knitted and cried.
So sat together these three women--as good women in their way, who meant well, and might have lived to be a comfort to one another.