Daphne
Wing saw it, and went on: "I know--I know--it's awful; but I do--and
now he--he--" Her quiet but really dreadful sobbing broke out again. And
again Gyp began stroking and stroking her shoulder. "And I have been so
awful to you! Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, do forgive me, please!"
All Gyp could find to answer, was:
"Yes, yes; that's nothing! Don't cry--don't cry!"
Very slowly the sobbing died away, till it was just a long shivering,
but still the girl held her hands over her face and her face down. Gyp
felt paralyzed. The unhappy girl, the red and green room, the smell of
mutton--creeping!
At last, a little of that white face showed; the lips, no longer craving
for sugar-plums, murmured:
"It's you he--he--really loves all the time. And you don't love
him--that's what's so funny--and--and--I can't understand it. Oh, Mrs.
Fiorsen, if I could see him--just see him! He told me never to come
again; and I haven't dared. I haven't seen him for three weeks--not
since I told him about IT. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
His being her own husband seemed as nothing to Gyp at that moment. She
felt such pity and yet such violent revolt that any girl should want to
crawl back to a man who had spurned her. Unconsciously, she had drawn
herself up and pressed her lips together. The girl, who followed every
movement, said piteously:
"I don't seem to have any pride.
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