He thought she was going to cry, but she did not. She only clasped her hands hard together and drew in her lower lip, clenching it in her teeth.
“Perhaps I ought not to speak like this,” she said. “I don’t know whether it is very wrong or not. But it is so long since any one was kind to me or seemed to care.”
“It is not wrong,” said Noel, “don’t think it. Ease your heart by speaking, if it comforts you. Try to remember what we are to each other—think of me as your brother.”
Thus invited, he hoped she would speak freely, but she caught her lip again, as if in the effort of self-repression, and shook her head. Noel was hurt.
“Do you not trust me?” he said.
“I trust you always,” she answered. “You are good and kind and true, and not like other men. Oh, how bad they are! What things they can think of a woman! The world is dark and evil, and I and my baby are alone—alone—alone!”
The vehemence of this outburst seemed to recall her to herself and her surroundings, and by a tremendous effort she managed to attain a manner and expression of calm. The baby stirred and opened its eyes, and in a moment everything else was forgotten.
A few moments later, when, with the child in her arms, she was ready to go, Noel, as he handed her her gloves and pocketbook, slipped something into the latter.
“I don’t know what you will think of the reward of your morning’s labor,” he said, in an off-hand way. “To me it seems miserably little, although you, with your notions, may think it too much. You don’t know, of course, that a model such as the one I’ve secured this morning is hard to get, and can always command a good price. You have fairly and honestly earned it and I hope you will be willing to come again. May I say to-morrow?”