"Dear," said Clem, with the utmost tenderness and gentleness; "what do these things matter—except that they have made you suffer? ... they have made you the woman you are, and that is all I care to know.... I have always known that there was a wound ... don't make it bleed afresh ... I love you too well to want to hear anything that it hurts to tell ... always believe this, Poppy ... I love and trust you above any woman I have ever known."
"Clem, you are too kind and good to me.... I am not worthy even to speak to you, to touch you.... It is nothing when I say I love you ... I bless you ... I think there is nothing in the world I would not do for you.... I did not know one woman could be so sweet to another as you have been to me ... you are like the priceless box of sweet-smelling nard that the harlot broke over the feet of Christ ... and I ... Ah! Christ! What am I?"
Dense blackness filled the room. In it nothing was heard but the sound of deep weeping. Outside the storm raged on. But when next a gleam of light flashed through the windows, the figure of a kneeling woman was revealed clasped in another woman's arms.
"I am weary of falseness, Clem ... weary of my lips' false tales ... since I have been near you and seen your true unafraid eyes ... the frank clear turn of your mouth that has never lied to anyone ... I have died many deaths ... you can never know how I have suffered ... pure women don't know what suffering there is in the world, it is no use pretending they do ... they are wonderful, they shine.... O! what wouldn't we give to shine with that lovely cold, pure glow ... but they can't take from us what our misery has bought."
"Poppy, don't tell me anything," the older woman said steadily. "I don't want to know ... whatever Life has made you do, or think, or say ... I don't care! I love you. I am your friend. I know that the root of you is sound. Who am I that I should sit in judgment? It is all a matter of luck ... God was good to me ... I had a good mother and a fleet foot ... when I smelt danger I ran ... I had been trained to run ... you had not, perhaps, and you stayed ... that's the only difference——"
Poppy laughed bitterly at the lame ending.
"The difference lies deeper than that ... you are generous, Clem, but truth is truth, and I should like to speak it to you now and always ... confession has no attractions for me, and I once told a man I should never confess to a woman——"
"Silence is always best, dear," Clem said. "When a woman learns to be silent about herself, she gains power that nothing else can give her. And words can forge themselves into such terrible weapons to be used against one—sometimes by hands we love."
"It would be a relief to clean my heart and lips to you, dear, once and for all. Let me tell you—even the name I use is not my own!"
"I don't care. What does a name matter?"