Jimmie’s momentary expression of blankness passed and Gertrude did not press her advantage. They walked home in silence.
“It’s awfully companionable to realize that you also are human, ’Trude,” he hazarded on the doorstep. 137
Gertrude put a still hand into his, which is a way of saying “Good night,” that may be more formal than any other.
“The Colonel’s lady, and July O’Grady,” she quoted lightly. “Good night, Jimmie.”
Up-stairs in her great chamber under the eaves, Eleanor was composing a poem which she copied carefully on a light blue page of her private diary. It read as follows:
|
“To love, it is the saddest thing, When friendship proves unfit, For lots of sadness it will bring, When e’er you think of it. Alas! that friends should prove untrue And disappoint you so. Because you don’t know what to do, And hardly where to go.” |