"Oh!" she cried, and hid her face in her hands.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The doctor!" she exclaimed, shuddering.
"Tell me!" I insisted.
Instead, she sprang up and began to walk up and down the room, wringing her hands. "It's awful; it's all confused in my mind, like a dream—but I seem to remember things that never happened at all. Oh, did they ever happen?" she turned to demand of me in despair.
"That's what I want you to tell me."
She dropped into her chair again and began to cry—"Oh, I can't tell you! I can't! It never happened, I'm sure! What does it mean, Chester?"
"It's probably what happened here yesterday—to Edna—that you remember, Joy."
"Oh, how dare he treat her so, then? It comes back to me in scraps and shreds of scenes. Oh, what a cad he must be! And what a woman she must be, to allow him—oh, I can't stand it! Why did you make me remember? How can I ever look any one in the face again?"
She threw herself into the cushions on the window-seat and burst into tears. There was but one way to restore her self-respect, and I went over to her and took her hand. At first she pulled it away, but I persisted.