Lady Summerhay gave her a quick look.
"I--I hope you won't mind my being frank--I've been so worried. It's an
unhappy position, isn't it?" Gyp did not answer, and she hurried on.
"If there's anything I can do to help, I should be so glad--it must be
horrid for you."
Gyp said very quietly:
"Oh! no. I'm perfectly happy--couldn't be happier." And she thought: 'I
suppose she doesn't believe that.'
Lady Summerhay was looking at her fixedly.
"One doesn't realize these things at first--neither of you will, till
you see how dreadfully Society can cold-shoulder."
Gyp made an effort to control a smile.
"One can only be cold-shouldered if one puts oneself in the way of it.
I should never wish to see or speak to anyone who couldn't take me just
for what I am. And I don't really see what difference it will make to
Bryan; most men of his age have someone, somewhere." She felt malicious
pleasure watching her visitor jib and frown at the cynicism of that
soft speech; a kind of hatred had come on her of this society woman,
who--disguise it as she would--was at heart her enemy, who regarded her,
must regard her, as an enslaver, as a despoiler of her son's worldly
chances, a Delilah dragging him down. She said still more quietly: "He
need tell no one of my existence; and you can be quite sure that if ever
he feels he's had enough of me, he'll never be troubled by the sight of
me again.
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