‘You are hard,’ she said, ‘cruel—like a rock, what can I do? I was wrong, I am sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t even succeed. I was too miserable, oh, how cruel you are! what can I do? I will do anything, anything, oh, Larrie, Larrie, Larrie, don’t be hard, when I’m down, Larrie, and broken, and sorry, and miserable—oh, it is cruel, cruel.’ Her sobs choked her, there were wet warm patches on the green cushion, her eyes were drenched, she was shivering with excitement and misery. There was another great silence broken only by her passionate weeping.
Then she lifted her head again.
‘I can’t bear it,’ she said wildly, ‘for God’s sake, say something, I shall go mad if you stand there like that any longer. How unmanly you are!—oh, how cruel!—Larrie, kiss me. Oh, darling, darling, forgive [p 115] ]me—my husband, my darling, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!’
The last words died away with almost a wail, for though he looked at her all the time he did not move nearer to her and his eye took no softer light.
Then she dropped her head on the cushions again, with her arms flung round them and he stood watching her, and away down in the East the stars went out, and the sickly creeping light was the new dawn.
When Dot stood up she was stiff, and chilled to the bone. She was no longer sorry, all the aching for a loving word and kiss had gone, she was only very very tired and very cold. She looked at Larrie with eyes heavy and indifferent, if he had come and kissed her then she could not have responded or warmed in the slightest degree. She drew her wrap closer about her bare neck and arms and shivered again.
‘Well?’ she said dully.
But he went and brought a rug from the [p 116] ]hall stand and put it around her before he answered.
‘I think you had better go to bed now,’ he said, ‘we can talk to-morrow.’
‘No, now,’ she said.