The idea interested her. She began to dramatize herself, a forlorn figure, driven from home, and deserted by her lover. She saw herself lying in the cottage, stately and mysterious, while the hill girls went in and out, and whispered.
“I'll kill myself,” she repeated.
“Nothing will happen to me, Anna, dear.”
“I don't know why I care so. I'm nothing to you.”
“That's not so.”
“If you cared, you'd have come up the other night. You left me alone in that lonesome hole. It's hell, that place. All smells and whispering and dirt.”
“Now listen to me, Anna. You're tired, or you wouldn't say that. You know I'm fond of you. But I've got you into trouble enough. I'm not—for God's sake don't tempt me, Anna.”
She looked at him half scornfully.
“Tempt you!” Then she gave a little scream. Graham following her eyes looked through the window near them.
“Rudolph!” she whimpered. And began to weep out of pure terror.