“Dearest Ella, you will not break my heart!” said the girl piteously.
“Will you give him up for your love of me?” the woman cried again, and Phyllis felt her hands tighten upon her wrists.
“I will forget that you have said such words,” said the girl.
The woman flung away her hands after retaining them for a few moments in silence, and then throwing herself back in her chair, laughed loud and long.
Phyllis rose to her feet.
“You poor dear!” cried Ella. “It was a shame—a shame to play such a jest upon you! But I felt in a tragic mood, and the line between comedy and tragedy is a very fine one. Forgive my little freak, dear; and let us be human beings once more, living in a world that cannot be taken so seriously. Don’t go by the evening train, Phyllis; stay all night with me. I have so much to say to you. I want to talk to you. How can you leave me here all alone?”
Phyllis could have told her that how she could leave her all alone was because Herbert Courtland had left for London on the previous day. She did not make an explanation to her on this basis, however; she merely said that it would interfere with her plans to remain longer at The Moorings. She had to attend that great function with her father that night.
Ella called her very unkind, but showed no desire to revert to the topic upon which they had been conversing, when she had thought fit to ask her that jocular question which Phyllis had said she would forget.
But Phyllis did not keep her word. On the contrary she thought of nothing else but that question all the time she was in the railway carriage going to Paddington.
It was a terrible question in Phyllis’ eyes for a woman with a husband to put to her girl-friend.