Chee was frightened at her cousin’s sudden outburst of confidence, but, with characteristic intuitiveness, she said nothing.
“I forgot that his feelings were just as hard to manage, and I threw it down and declared I would never touch it again as long as I lived. And then he said he would never speak to me again until I had taken back my words.
“Then the carriage came—oh, why didn’t it wait a little longer? I would surely have come to my senses in another minute. But I left him and came here. Yet Birdie, Birdie, wouldn’t I touch it now if I could—if it wasn’t at home and he far, far away!
“Oh, why did I lose my temper? How could I? They always said we were both too hot-headed to get on together. And now all is lost forever, he’s gone—he won’t come back. Oh, I can never, never forget this night.”
“‘SHALL I ASK OUR FATHER?’”
The girl ceased her wild, mournful speaking and buried her face in her pillow. Uncontrolled sobs shook her form.
Chee was bewildered. She could not understand Gertrude’s trouble, but her cousin’s misery had become hers. Her fingers trembled while she stroked the bright hair, trying to think of the right thing to say. Soon Cousin Gertrude was quiet. Chee thought her asleep, when a long, quivering sigh escaped. It seemed almost a sob.
Chee had wanted to say something which she had hardly dared; this last sign of grief now gave her courage.
“Cousin Gertrude,” she ventured, in a whisper, her lips close to the other’s hot cheek.