She was so blue, so frightening to look at, that Emily started to go to the door.
"What are you doing?" Martha cried.
"I'm going to wake somebody up! I'm going to get some hot water—a hot-water bag for you."
But the girl was in terror, and cried out:
"I never have anything, mammie. Don't! They might guess! I'll be all right, mammie. Come into bed with me; that'll warm me up!"
So Emily made the room as decent as she could.
"Hide that, hide it! I'll manage in the morning. I don't want anybody to suspect anything!"
Emily got into bed, sickened, and gathered the child to her. She was passionate with hate. A man, any man, who inflicted one such hour on a girl——"I could just kill that man!" she was raging. If a decent boy had given her child a box of sickening chocolates, by accident, what a fuss there would have been! How he would have had to grovel! And as she raged in her mind, she heard Martha imploring comfort.
"Oh, how long is this going to go on, mammie?"
"How long has it gone on?"