"But you ain't sorry you did it, are you?" persisted the child.
This was too much for the patience of a childless woman. Miss Pickett took Miss Dainton by the hand and led her firmly to her father.
"Please explain to your little girl,", said she, "that there are some occasions where children should not be seen, much less heard."
Mr. Dainton admitted ruddily that "he guessed that was so." But he would have liked to shake the woman who had snubbed his Emerald.
The child pouted a while, then sidled up to Sophy again as they walked through the hot, gusty streets towards the hotel. It seemed impossible for her to resist the double fascination that Sophy exercised over her, as woman and as divorcée. Sophy let the child take her passive hand. She was hardly conscious of it, so far was she in a world of alien thought.
Father and daughter escorted them to the Palace Hotel, where they said final good-bys. The two women went upstairs in silence. Without taking off her hat Sophy sat down, still in that brown study. Her eyes were fixed vaguely on the white satin "Regulations" over the door. Miss Pickett moved about, putting articles into her open trunk. They were to leave for Virginia on the midnight train. Every now and then she would glance at Sophy, but she said nothing.
Presently Sophy spoke to her.
"It's very painful ... being born, Sue."
"'Being born'?" said Miss Pickett, stopping on her way to the trunk with an odd shoe in her hand.
"Yes, Sue.... It's hard. It hurts.... Drawing in the first breaths hurts.... When I've breathed really deep, it will be different...."