“I am not gentle!” cried the other. “You are laughing at me! Was it to talk about my prettiness you came here? Do you go about alone, this way? I never heard of such a thing. You are shameless! do you know that? But I am very glad of it; because once you have done this for him, he will not care for you. That’s the way with men. And I am not pretty either, not as you are! You are pale and tired; you have got a horrid dress and shawl, and yet you are beautiful! Is that the way I must look to please you?” she demanded, turning back to Hubert.
Hubert, during this rancorous tirade, had stood looking as dark as thunder, and at this point he broke out fiercely, “Good God, Amy! hold your tongue,—I command you.”
Nora, gathering her shawl together, gave Hubert a glance. “She loves you,” she said, softly.
Amy stared a moment at this vehement adjuration; then she melted into a smile and turned in ecstasy to her mother. “O, did you hear that?” she cried. “That’s how I like him. Please say it again!”
Nora left the room; and, in spite of her gesture of earnest deprecation, Hubert followed her downstairs to the street. “Where are you going?” he asked in a whisper. “With whom are you staying?”
“I am alone,” said Nora.
“Alone in this great city? Nora, I will do something for you.”
“Hubert,” she said, “I never in my life needed help less than at this moment. Farewell.” He fancied for an instant that she was going to offer him her hand, but she only motioned him to open the door. He did so, and she passed out.
She stood there on the pavement, strangely, almost absurdly, free and light of spirit. She knew neither whither she should turn nor what she should do, yet the fears which had haunted her for a whole day and night had vanished. The sky was blazing blue overhead; the opposite side of the street was all in sun; she hailed the joyous brightness of the day with a kind of answering joy. She seemed to be in the secret of the universe. A nursery-maid came along, pushing a baby in a perambulator. She stooped and greeted the child, and talked pretty nonsense to it with a fervor which left the young woman staring. Nurse and child went their way, and Nora lingered, looking up and down the empty street. Suddenly a gentleman turned into it from the cross-street above. He was walking fast; he had his hat in his hand, and with his other hand he was passing his handkerchief over his forehead. As she stood and watched him draw near, down the bright vista of the street, there came upon her a singular and altogether nameless sensation, strangely similar to the one she had felt a couple of years before, when a physician had given her a dose of ether. The gentleman, she perceived, was Roger; but the short interval of space and time which separated them seemed to expand into a throbbing immensity and eternity. She seemed to be watching him for an age, and, as she did so, to be floating through the whole circle of emotion and the full realization of being. Yes, she was in the secret of the universe, and the secret of the universe was, that Roger was the only man in it who had a heart. Suddenly she felt a palpable grasp. Roger stood before her, and had taken her hand. For a moment he said nothing; but the touch of his hand spoke loud. They stood for an instant scanning the change in each other’s faces. “Where are you going?” said Roger, at last, imploringly.
Nora read silently in his haggard eyes the whole record of his suffering. It is a strange truth that this seemed the most beautiful thing she had ever looked upon; the sight of it was delicious. It seemed to whisper louder and louder that secret about Roger’s heart.