“Clare?”
The tension had been so great that he had forgotten the blonde girl entirely.
“Do you remember the night I got a hundred dollars from you? And later on, that I asked you for work in your mill for the girl I got it for?”
“Do you mean?” He looked at her in surprise.
“That was the girl. You see, she rather holds onto me. It's awful in a way, too. It looks as though I am posing as magnanimous. I'm not, Clay. If I had cared awfully it would have been different. But then, if I had cared awfully, perhaps it would never have happened.”
“You have nothing to blame yourself for, Audrey.”
“Well, I do, rather. But that's not the point. Sometimes when I am alone I have wicked thoughts, you know, Clay. I'm reckless, and sometimes I think maybe there is only one life, and why not get happiness out of it. I realize that, but for some little kink in my brain, I might be in Clare's position. So I don't turn her out. She's a poor, cheap thing, but—well, she is fond of me. If I had children—it's funny, but I rather mother her! And she's straight now, straight as a string!”
She was sensitive to his every thought, and she knew by the very change in the angle of his head that he was thinking that over and not entirely approving. But he said finally:
“You're a big woman, Audrey.”
“But you don't like it!”