"I--thought you would come this morning. I had that lingering
faith in you."
"Your face haunted me all night," I said. "I was bound to come."
"So, this is the end of it all," she remarked, stonily.
"No," said I. "It only marks the transition from a very
ill-defined relationship to as loyal a friendship as ever man
could offer woman."
She gave a quivering little shrug of disgust and turned away.
"Oh, don't talk like that 'I can't offer you bread, but I'll give
you a nice round polished stone.' Friendship! What has a woman
like me got to do with friendship?"
"Have I ever given you much more?"
"God knows what you have given me," she cried, bitterly. She
stared out of the window at the sodden street and murky air. I
went to her side and touched her wrist.
"For heaven's sake, Judith, tell me what I can do."
"What's done is done," she said, between her teeth. "When did
you marry her?"
I explained briefly the condition of affairs. She looked at me
hard and long; then stared out of the window again, and scarce
heeded what I said.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294