"No, no," she said excitedly, "you must not go! I can't bear to be alone: you must stay with me!"
She expressed no sorrow, no regret. She did not even speak his name.
She just sat nursing her beautiful face.
Once or twice Bernardine tried to slip away. This waiting about was a strain on her, and she felt that she was doing no good.
But each time Mrs. Reffold looked up and prevented her.
"No, no," she said. "I can't bear myself without you. I must have you near me. Why should you leave me?"
So Bernardine lingered. She tried to read a book which lay on the table. She counted the lines and dots on the wall-paper. She thought about the dead man; and about the living woman. She had pitied him; but when she looked at the stricken face of his wife, Bernardine's whole heart rose up in pity for her. Remorse would come, although it might not remain long. The soul would see itself face to face for one brief moment; and then forget its own likeness.
But for the moment—what a weight of suffering, what a whole century of agony!
Bernardine grew very tender for Mrs. Reffold: she bent over the sofa, and fondled the beautiful face.
"Mrs. Reffold" . . . she whispered.
That was all she said: but it was enough.