He stared at her, dumfounded.
“Stop it!” she commanded. “You’ve got to listen to me!”
He had never in his life been so amazed. She had flown at him, and shaken him! It was unbelievable. It was pathetic. She was such a little thing; so fierce, and so helpless.
“All right!” he said, mildly. “I’m listening. What’s it all about?”
His tone, his faint smile, did not please her.
“Oh, you think it’s nothing!” she said. “You think I’m just a silly girl, making an awful fuss about some childish trouble. Don’t you? Well, you’re wrong. Listen to me!”
She stopped, and drew back a little, looking him straight in the face with those strange black eyes of hers.
“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she said, in a low, steady voice. “A wicked, terrible thing. If I get what I deserve, I’m ruined and lost.”
She turned away from him, and walked over to the window. Ross turned, too, and followed her. She was gazing before her at the gray sky; the curve of her cheek, her half parted lips, her wide brow, were altogether innocent and lovely, but the look on her pale face was not so. It was somber, bitter, and tragic.
“The sun is coming up,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Will you help me?”