Mrs. Percy-Bartlett bent and kissed the pale cheek of the trembling girl.
“Tell him that you love him, Gertrude.”
A flush overspread Gertrude’s face and her eyes flashed. She arose and looked down at her friend.
“I cannot, Harriet. When you put it into words, it scares me. It is horrible to talk of such a thing. I am sorry—so sorry, that you said it.” She reseated herself and looked into the sad, brown eyes that gazed at her almost reproachfully.
“I know that you meant it for the best, Harriet, but it can never be. And, now, promise me that you will never refer to this again. You know my secret. Let us go on as though I had never told you.”
They were silent for a time, their cold hands clasped in a contact that expressed more than words. After a time Gertrude spoke,—
“I am so sorry to go away from you just now, Harriet. I never needed you so much before.”
Mrs. Percy-Bartlett sighed wearily.
“I am so tired, Gertrude. When you are gone I don’t know what I shall do. Life is such a weird and wearisome affair. I am young, and the world has given me everything that I ought to ask of it—but—but”—
She hesitated. Gertrude bent toward her.