But she could not hold her peace for long.
"There is no need to be violent, Mrs. Grey. It would be a sad thing,
indeed, Maria, if your brother had married a violent-tempered woman."
"I am not that. 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.
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