Silence.
“I’ll be very good to Glory.”
Still silence.
“Oh, Jehane, I’m so foolish—such a weak, foolish fellow; I need your strength. With you I could be a man.” Then all that was maternal awoke in her. She remembered how she had seen him looking empty-handed, while those clever men and women had stared. “You musn’t mind my cousin. He’s a genial ass. Sometimes it takes him like that.”—Cruel! Cruel! She took his head and pressed it to her bosom, kissing him on the forehead.
Nan, disturbed by their disappearance, found them kneeling, hand-in-hand, beside Glory.
That night as she sat before her mirror undressing, she let her hands fall to her side, listless. Barrington stole up behind her and kissed her on the neck, rubbing his face against hers.
“That’s what Peter calls softying.”
“But you weren’t thinking of Peter, little woman.”
“How did you know that?”
“You looked sad. What’s the trouble?”