I seized her arm. “You mustn't tell her a word,” I cried. “She mustn't know. It is better she should go. Better for her and for me—My God, yes! so much better for me.”
I could feel the arm on my shoulder start. Hephzy bent down and looked into my face. I tried to avoid the scrutiny, but she looked and looked. Then she drew a long breath.
“Hosy!” she exclaimed. “Hosy!”
“Don't speak to me. Oh, Hephzy,” with a bitter laugh, “did you ever dream there could be such a hopeless lunatic as I am! You needn't say it. I know the answer.”
“Hosy! Hosy! you poor boy!”
She kissed me, soothing me as she had when I came home to our empty house at the time of my mother's death. That memory came back to me even then.
“Forgive me, Hephzy,” I said. “I am ashamed of myself, of course. And don't worry. Nobody knows this but you and I, and nobody else shall. I'm going to behave and I'm going to be sensible. Just forget all this for my sake. I mean to forget it, too.”
But Hephzy shook her head.
“It's all my fault,” she said. “I'm to blame more than anybody else. It was me that brought her here in the first place and me that kept you from tellin' her the truth in the beginnin'. So it's me who must tell her now.”
“Hephzy!”