The girl needed, indeed, no second bidding. With the money still clutched in her hand, she went forth swiftly, stumbling a little in her haste, fearful lest, at the last moment, the woman she had so wronged should in fact change in mood, take back the money—ay, even give her over to that terrible man with the eyes of hate, to put her to death as she deserved.
Freed from the miasma of that presence, Mary remained motionless for a long minute, then sighed from her tortured heart. She turned and went slowly to her chair at the desk, and seated herself languidly, weakened by the ordeal through which she had passed.
“A girl I didn't know!” she said, bewilderedly; “perhaps had never spoken to—who smashed my life like that! Oh, if it wasn't so awful, it would be—funny! It would be funny!” A gust of hysterical laughter burst from her. “Why, it is funny!” she cried, wildly. “It is funny!”
“Mary!” Garson exclaimed sharply. He leaped across the room to face her. “That's no good!” he said severely.
Aggie, too, rushed forward.
“No good at all!” she declared loudly.
The interference recalled the distressed woman to herself. She made a desperate effort for self-command. Little by little, the unmeaning look died down, and presently she sat silent and moveless, staring at the two with stormy eyes out of a wan face.
“You were right,” she said at last, in a lifeless voice. “It's done, and can't be undone. I was a fool to let it affect me like that. I really thought I had lost all feeling about it, but the sight of that girl—the knowledge that she had done it—brought it all back to me. Well, you understand, don't you?”
“We understand,” Garson said, grimly. But there was more than grimness, infinitely more, in the expression of his clear, glowing eyes.
Aggie thought that it was her turn to voice herself, which she did without undue restraint.