"Arthur, I forgive you," said Cuckoo with a sob. And her head fell forward on his breast.
CHAPTER VIII
"But it was even thou, my companion, my guide,
and mine own familiar friend."
It was not until Janet was sitting alone in the room she had taken at an hotel that her dazed mind began to recover itself. It did not recoil in horror from the remembrance of that grim ascent to the flat. It did not dwell on Cuckoo's death.
Janet said over and over again to herself, in tearless anguish, "Cuckoo and Fred! Cuckoo and Fred!"
The shock had succeeded to a great strain, and she succumbed to it.
She sat on her box in the middle of the room hour after hour in the stifling heat. The afternoon sun beat in on her, but she did not pull down the blind. There was an armchair in the corner, but Janet unconsciously clung to the box, as the only familiar object in an unfamiliar world. Late in the afternoon, when Anne found her, Janet was still sitting on it, gazing in front of her, with an untasted cup of tea beside her, which the chambermaid had brought her.
Anne sat down on the box and put her arms round her.
"My dear," she said; "my dear."