"I mean"—he tried to laugh—"your best dress seems pretty tight for you. Oh, if it only should be—"
"Don't be a fool," she angrily replied. "If anything like that happens, I'll let you know."
His face lengthened, and the smile went out of his eyes. He accepted her tone as final, too loyal to doubt her word. "Don't be mad; I was only in hopes." He rose after a silence and went out with downcast head.
She sat rigidly, feeling as if the blood were freezing in her hands and feet. The crisis was upon her. The time of her judgment was coming—and she was alone! She burned with anger against Rivers. Why had he waited and waited? "He can put things off—he is a man, but I am the woman—I must suffer it all." The pain, the shame, the deadly danger—all were hers.
Burke returned, noisily, stamping his feet like a boy.
"It's snowin' like all git out," he said, "and I've got to rig up some kind of a sled. I reckon winter has come in earnest now, and our coal-pile is low."
He went to sleep with the readiness of a child, and as she lay listening to his quiet breath she remembered how easy it had once been for her to sleep. She had the same agony of pity for him that she would have felt for a child she had wronged malevolently.
The next day Mrs. Bussy came over. At her rap Blanche called, "Come in," but remained seated by the fire.
The old woman entered, knocking the snow off her feet like a man.
"How de do, neighbor?"