There was a light in her eye which seemed the precursor of a smile;
but her voice was not unsympathetic, and Rosamund knew that one of
Bertha Cross smiles was worth more in the way of friendship than
another's tragic emotion

"Have patience with me," she continued, "whilst I try to explain it
all. The worst of my position is, that so many people will know what
I have done, and so few of them, hardly any one, will understand
why. One can't talk to people about such things. Even Winnie and
father--I'm sure they don't really understand--though I'm afraid
they're both rather glad. What a wretched thing it is to be
misjudged. I feel sure, Bertha, that it's just this kind of thing
that makes a woman sit down and write a novel--where she can speak
freely in disguise, and do herself justice. Don't you think so?"

"I shouldn't wonder," replied the listener, thoughtfully. "But does
it really matter? If you know you're only doing what you must do?"

"But that's only how it seems to me. Another, in my place, would
very likely see the must on the other side. Of course it's a
terribly complicated thing--a situation like this. I haven't the
slightest idea how one ought to be guided. One could argue and
reason all day long about it--as I have done with myself for weeks
past."

"Try just to tell me the reason which seems to you the strongest,"
said Bertha.

"That's very simple. I thought I loved him, and I find I don't."