The young man came and sat down in the next stall. Bubbles was leaning back more comfortably now, her red cap almost off her head. There was a great look of restfulness on her pale, sensitive face.
She put out her hand and felt for his; after a moment of hesitation he slid down and knelt close to her.
"Bubbles," he whispered, "my darling—darling Bubbles. I wish that here and now you would make up your mind to give up everything—" He stopped speaking, and bending, kissed her hand.
"Yes," she said dreamily. "Give up everything, Bill? Perhaps I will. But what do you mean by everything?"
There was a self-pitying note in her low, vibrant voice. "You know it is given to people, sometimes, to choose between good and evil. I'm afraid"—she leant forward, and passed her right hand, with a touch of tenderness most unusual with her, over his upturned face and curly hair—"I'm afraid, Bill, that, almost without knowing it, I chose evil, 'Evil, be thou my good.' Isn't that what the wicked old Satanists used to say?"
"Don't you say it too!" he exclaimed, sharply distressed.
"I know I acted stupidly—in fact, as we're in a church I don't mind saying I acted very wrongly last night."
Bubbles spoke in a serious tone—more seriously, indeed, than she had ever yet spoken to her faithful, long-suffering friend. "But a great deal of what happens to me and round me, Bill, I can't help—I wish I could," she said slowly.
"I don't quite understand." There was a painful choking feeling in his throat. "Try and tell me what you mean, Bubbles."
"What I mean is clear enough"—she now spoke with a touch of impatience. "I mean that wherever I am, They come too, and gather about me. It wasn't my fault that that horrible Thing appeared to Pegler as soon as I entered the house."