been trying to Bertha's sense of humour but for the sincerity
manifest in every word; hitherto, however, she had expressed herself
with perfect lucidity, and this sudden change seemed ominous of
alarming things. Just when Bertha was anxiously wondering what could
have happened,--of course inclined to attribute blame, if blame
there were, to the artist rather than to his betrothed--a stranger
came to inquire about the house to let. It was necessary to
ascertain at once whether Mr. Franks intended to become their tenant
or not. Mrs. Cross wrote to him, and received the briefest possible
reply, to the effect that his plans were changed.

"How vexatious!" exclaimed Mrs. Cross. "I had very much rather have
let to people we know I suppose he's seen a house that suits him
better."

"I think there's another reason," said Bertha, after gazing for a
minute or two at the scribbled, careless note. "The marriage is put
off."

"And you knew that," cried her mother, "all the time, and never told
me! And I might have missed twenty chances of letting. Really,
Bertha, I never did see anything like you. There's that house
standing empty month after month, and we hardly know where to turn
for money, and you knew that Mr. Franks wouldn't take it, and yet
you say not a word! How can you behave in such an extraordinary way?
I think you really find pleasure in worrying me. Any one would fancy
you wished to see me in my grave. To think that you knew all the
time!"