She told him about her Blue Castle. It was so easy to tell Barney things. One felt he understood everything—even the things you didn’t tell him. And then she told him a little of her existence before she came to Roaring Abel’s. She wanted him to see why she had gone to the dance “up back.”
“You see—I’ve never had any real life,” she said. “I’ve just—breathed. Every door has always been shut to me.”
“But you’re still young,” said Barney.
“Oh, I know. Yes, I’m ‘still young’—but that’s so different from young,” said Valancy bitterly. For a moment she was tempted to tell Barney why her years had nothing to do with her future; but she did not. She was not going to think of death tonight.
“Though I never was really young,” she went on—“until tonight,” she added in her heart. “I never had a life like other girls. You couldn’t understand. Why,”—she had a desperate desire that Barney should know the worst about her—“I didn’t even love my mother. Isn’t it awful that I don’t love my mother?”
“Rather awful—for her,” said Barney drily.
“Oh, she didn’t know it. She took my love for granted. And I wasn’t any use or comfort to her or anybody. I was just a—a—vegetable. And I got tired of it. That’s why I came to keep house for Mr. Gay and look after Cissy.”
“And I suppose your people thought you’d gone mad.”
“They did—and do—literally,” said Valancy. “But it’s a comfort to them. They’d rather believe me mad than bad. There’s no other alternative. But I’ve been living since I came to Mr. Gay’s. It’s been a delightful experience. I suppose I’ll pay for it when I have to go back—but I’ll have had it.”
“That’s true,” said Barney. “If you buy your experience it’s your own. So it’s no matter how much you pay for it. Somebody else’s experience can never be yours. Well, it’s a funny old world.”