“Yes, I do.”
“I am—”
“Ky’s friend. Thank you.” Feebly he put out his hand. But he would have drawn it back, if hers had not closed trembling over it.
“Oh, Jack! Jack!” she cried to herself, conscious of an anguished impulse to hide the marred hands in her breast to see if pity might not heal them!
“I think whatever comes of it,” she said brokenly, “I mustn’t go.”
The glazed eyes looked at her in faint wonder.
“Because I am Hildegarde.”
“That wasn’t her name.”
“No, no. I am Hildegarde Mar.”
“A nice name.”