Lily’s sobs ceased, and she lifted her head.
“There are bad girls in your slums. Tell me—do they ever pick themselves up? Ever forget, and feel as they did before?”
“Lily! you mustn’t speak so—you’re dreaming.”
“Don’t they always go from bad to worse? There’s no turning back—your old self rejects you, and shuts you out.”
She rose, stretching her arms as if in utter physical weariness. “Go to bed, dear! You work hard and get up early. I’ll watch here by the fire, and you’ll leave the light, and your door open. All I want is to feel that you are near me.” She laid both hands on Gerty’s shoulders, with a smile that was like sunrise on a sea strewn with wreckage.
“I can’t leave you, Lily. Come and lie on my bed. Your hands are frozen—you must undress and be made warm.” Gerty paused with sudden compunction. “But Mrs. Peniston—it’s past midnight! What will she think?”
“She goes to bed. I have a latchkey. It doesn’t matter—I can’t go back there.”
“There’s no need to: you shall stay here. But you must tell me where you have been. Listen, Lily—it will help you to speak!” She regained Miss Bart’s hands, and pressed them against her. “Try to tell me—it will clear your poor head. Listen—you were dining at Carry Fisher’s.” Gerty paused and added with a flash of heroism: “Lawrence Selden went from here to find you.”
At the word, Lily’s face melted from locked anguish to the open misery of a child. Her lips trembled and her gaze widened with tears.
“He went to find me? And I missed him! Oh, Gerty, he tried to help me. He told me—he warned me long ago—he foresaw that I should grow hateful to myself!”