Here came a renewal of tears and heart-rending sighs.  Clemence watched the woman in undisguised amazement, as she arose and paced the room, wringing her hands in the most woe-begone manner imaginable.  Her wild appearance immediately suggested the idea that she might be suffering from temporary aberration of mind.

Clemence rose with a quick thrill of fear.  “Since you are indisposed for company,” she said, “perhaps you would not care to be troubled with my little affairs at present.  I can call again some time next week, if you desire it.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Burton, “come again, when I am feeling better.  This pressure on my brain will be relieved.  Hush! do not say more, the servant will hear you.  I am watched, and have no liberty to speak of my troubles without watching my opportunity.  Good-bye, now, you can leave the basket until you come again, when I will remunerate you sufficiently.”

“The woman must be insane; do you not think so, Ulrica?” asked Clemence of her friend, after she had concluded a narrative of her interview.

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Hardyng, doubtingly.  “It looks like it, her talking about being watched, but I am of the opinion that a jealous, passionate temper has more to do with these paroxysms than anything else.  She has always had the name of ruling her husband, and her scowling, swarthy visage, and evil-looking eyes, seem to substantiate her claim to possessing strong, vixenish proclivities.  I fancy they are quite well matched, however, and that clouds in their domestic horizon are of every day occurrence.  Neither should I at all relish the idea of being taken into the lady’s confidence, for after they have got over their quarrel, they will be apt to lay the blame upon a convenient third, and I should not covet the distinction.”

“Well, I have only once more to go,” said Clemence, “and shall take care to be guarded in my remarks.”

Which resolution was followed to the letter, when she found herself again in Mrs. Burton’s parlor.  The lady was cool and dignified when they met, but soon relapsed into a tearful state.  Clemence was again forced to listen patiently to a long recital of Mr. Burton’s shortcomings and disagreeable qualities, both of a positive and negative order, and felt sure before it came to an end, that she was much better acquainted with the dark side of that gentleman’s character than she cared to be.

Her position was a delicate one.  Somehow, she could not help thinking, as she looked at the face before her, that, arrayed in its pleasantest smiles, it could, by the barest possibility, be only passable, and now looked really hideous in its disgusting and futile rage.  Really, if there could be any excuse for such domestic infidelities as had been pictured so graphically, Mr. Burton certainly ought to have the benefit of them, for he seemed to be almost as much “sinned against as sinning.”

As soon as she could get away without positive rudeness, she did so.  Mrs. Burton had declined to become a purchaser of her articles, retreating from her former protestations of benevolence, under the plea that her wretch of a husband curtailed her supply of means, in order to gratify his own avaricious disposition.