"Possibly," said I dryly. "I have no very great idea of Miss Destiny's sanity myself. But, it may be that you can explain the madness."
Gertrude looked round the room, as if in search of help, and placed both hands on her breast as though to still the beating of her heart. "I would explain--to a friend," she muttered, and her face was whiter than the statue of Parian marble on the bracket by the fireplace.
"I am a friend, Miss Monk."
"A true friend?"
"Test me and find me so." I bent over her. "Can you not understand?"
She put out her hand and pushed me back slightly. "My friend--not yet."
I retreated. "Friend--so cold a word."
"It is sufficient for the present," and then I saw that her whiteness was drowned in a rising tide of crimson. I would have spoken, for a sudden leap of my heart told me that her feelings were not so indifferent as I had imagined them to be. But again she put over her hand. "No, say nothing; let us remain friends until----"
"Until when?" I asked eagerly.
Pressing her hands between her knees she stared into the fire, then spoke in a low steady voice. "I never had a friend, either man or woman, and I have always wanted one. When you came I thought--it was foolish on my part perhaps--but I thought that you might help me."