Bridget bit her lip. She tried to speak, but no words would come.
“Don’t try to say anything,” said Miss Mason.
“I—I——” began Bridget. And, somehow, the next moment she was down on her knees by Miss Mason, who was soothing her with little odd articulations and pattings as she had soothed Pippa one night when she had awakened from a bad dream.
“I’m sorry,” said Bridget at last, sitting up and pushing back her hair from her face, “but it’s all been so lonely. At times I’ve felt that just for something to do I could be bad—really bad, you know. Anything for excitement, and to forget my own thoughts. At first I used to hate myself. Then I tried to hate Jasper, but I didn’t—I didn’t. I—I loved him all the time. You see, he gave me my baby. But I was so lonely and miserable I wanted to be wicked, only I remembered my baby, and——”
“I know, my dear,” said Miss Mason.
“Have you been lonely?” asked Bridget.
“Utterly lonely, my dear, for fifty-five years at least, ever since my parents died. And only women can understand the loneliness of women. Men have their pipes, and they can always swear a little, which must at times be an enormous help.”
“But you’re not lonely now?” asked Bridget.
Miss Mason smiled, a little glad smile. “My dear, I am so utterly happy now that I long for every one else to be happy. It was that that made me so sorry for you and Jasper, and made me want to come and see you. And now I want you to come and have some luncheon with me somewhere—you’ll have to tell me where—and then we’ll go and look at flats.”
Bridget got up from the floor.