“Oh, any time; after death—in the next world.”
“You believe in the next world, then?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I should take all the happiness I could get in this,” remarked Cicely.
“I care for it more than you do—more than you do?” said Eve, passionately.
Cicely gave a laugh of pure incredulity.
“But I cannot face it—his finding out,” Eve concluded.
Cicely gazed at her. “How handsome you are to-day! What are men, after all? Poor things compared to us. What wouldn’t we do for them when we love them?—what don’t we do? And what do they ever do for us in comparison? Paul—he ought to be at your feet for such a love as you have given him; instead of that, we both know that he would mind; that he couldn’t rise above it, couldn’t forget. See here”—she ran to Eve, and put her arms round her, excitedly—“supposing that he is better than we think,—supposing that I should go to him and tell him the whole, and that he should come here and say: ‘What difference does that make, Eve? We will be married to-morrow.’” And she looked up at Eve, her dark little face flushed for the moment with unselfish hopefulness.
“No,” answered Eve, slowly, “he couldn’t, he loved Ferdie so!” She raised her right hand and looked at it. “He would see me holding it—taking aim—”
Cicely drew away, she struck Eve’s hand down with all her force. Then she ran sobbing to the bed, where Jack, half dressed, had fallen asleep again, and threw herself down beside him. “Oh, Ferdie! Ferdie!” she sobbed, in a passion of grief.