“But, Ellen, it was more the girl’s fault than mine. And when one is young one may do many things that he’s sorry for afterwards. And I’ll do the right thing for the girl.”
“The right thing?” queried Ellen Keenans, and a troubled expression settled on her face. “But you cannot. It’s impossible. To two——”
“I’m wealthy now, you know. My allowance——”
“Oh, I see,” said the girl and, strangely enough, a suggestion of relief blended with her voice.
“I suppose you’ll think me a prig, Ellen,” said the young man. “But it wasn’t altogether my fault, neither was it the girl’s, I suppose. I suppose it was fate.... The girl won’t be highly sensitive. I’ve seen ones working here on the farm, young women, and they made a slip. But it did not seem to affect them. And we all make mistakes, Ellen....”
His speech came to an end and he left her and went towards the house; an hour later he re-entered the sty.
The woman with the pock-marked face looked at him angrily. Norah sat beside her on the upturned box, one arm hanging loosely by her side, the other resting on her knees, the hand pressed against her chin and a tapering finger stretching along her cheek. The old woman had given Norah a broken comb to dress her hair and now it hung to her waist in long, wavy tresses. But in the middle of the work she had dropped the comb and fallen into a deep reverie.
“I’ve come to see you,” Morrison began with an abruptness which showed that he wanted to hurry over a distasteful job. He was going to make atonement for his sin, and atonement represented a few pieces of gold, a few months’ denial of the luxuries which this gold could procure. He looked straight at Norah’s bowed head, taking no notice of the other occupants of the hovel.
“I’ve come to see you,” he repeated, but the girl paid no heed to him. He drew an envelope from his pocket, shook it so that the money within made a loud rattle, and placed it on her lap. The girl roused herself abruptly as if stung, lifted the envelope and looked at the man. Fearing that she was going to fling the terrible packet in his face, he put up his hand to shield himself. Norah smiled coldly and then handed him back the packet, which he had not the courage to refuse nor the audacity to return. The girl seemed to be performing some task that had no interest for her, something out and beyond the scope of her life. For a moment Morrison felt it in him to pity her, but deep down in his heart he pitied himself more.
“I thought ... I would like.... You know that....” he stammered. “I’ll go away just now,” he said in a low voice.