"Gerty, 'the world's a beast, and I hate it!'"
"You are not well, Conny. If you would only acknowledge the fact, and see a doctor."
"Gerty, come here."
Gertrude went over to the bed, secretly alarmed; something in her friend's tones frightened her.
Conny crushed her face against the pillows, then said in smothered tones:
"I can't bear it any longer. I must tell some one or it will kill me."
Gertrude grew pale; instinctively she felt what was coming; instinctively she desired to ward it off.
"Can't you guess? Oh, you may say it is humiliating, unworthy; I know that." She raised her face suddenly: "Oh, Gerty, how can I help it? He is so different from them all; from the sneaks who want one's money; from the bad imitations of fashionable young men, who snub, and patronise, and sneer at us all. Who could help it? Frank——"
"Conny, Conny, you musn't tell me this."