‘You are to be allowed to spit poison at me—are you? And I must bear it? No, that I won’t! Of course I know what’s the matter with you. You have fallen in love with Samuel Barmby.—You have! Any one can see it. You have no more command of yourself than a child. And because he prefers me to you, you rage against me. Idiot! What is Samuel Barmby to me? Can I do more to keep him off? Can I say to him, “Do have pity on poor Miss. Morgan, who—“’
She was interrupted by a scream, on which followed a torrent of frenzied words from Jessica.
‘You’re a bad-hearted woman! You’ve behaved disgracefully yourself—oh! I know more than you think; and now you accuse me of being as bad. Why did you get married in such a hurry? Do you think I didn’t understand it? It’s you who have no command over yourself. If the truth were known, no decent woman would ever speak to You again. And you’ve got your reward. Pretend as you like, I know your husband has deserted you. What else could you expect? That’s what makes you hate every one that hasn’t fallen into the mud. I wouldn’t have such a character as yours! All this afternoon you’ve been looking at that man as no married woman could who respected herself. You encourage him; he comes here often—’
Hysterical passion strangled her voice, and before she could recover breath, Nancy, terrible in ire, advanced upon her.
‘Leave this house, and never dare to show yourself here again! Do what you like, I’ll endure you no longer—be off!’
Jessica retreated, her bloodless lips apart, her eyes starting as in suffocation. She stumbled against a chair, fell to the ground, and, with a cry of anguish, threw herself upon her knees before Nancy.
‘What did I say? I didn’t mean it—I don’t know what I have been saying—it was all madness. Oh, do forgive me! That isn’t how I really think of you—you know it isn’t—I’m not so wicked as that. We have been friends so long—I must have gone mad to speak such words. Don’t drive me away from you, dear, dear Nancy! I implore you to forgive me! Look, I pray to you on my knees to forget it. Despise me for being such a weak, wicked creature, but don’t drive me away like that! I didn’t mean one word I said.’
‘Rubbish! Of course you meant it. You have thought it every day, and you’ll say it again, behind my back, if not to my face. Stand up, and don’t make yourself sillier than you are.’
‘You can’t call me anything too bad—but don’t drive me away. I can’t bear it. You are the only friend I have in the world—the only, only friend. No one was ever kind and good to me but you, and this is how I have repaid you. Oh, I hate myself! I could tear my tongue out for saying such things. Only say that you’ll try to forgive me—dear Nancy—dear—’
She fell with face upon the carpet, and grovelled there in anguish of conflicting passions, a lamentable object. Unable to bear the sight of her, Nancy moved away, and stood with back turned, perforce hearing the moans and sobs and half-articulate words which lasted until the fit of hysteria left its victim in mute exhaustion. Then, contemptuously pitiful, she drew near again to the prostrate figure.