Annie’s pretty eyes opened wide with astonishment. Here was the self-reliant Eve talking like the veriest weakling. But quick as thought she seized her opportunity.
“But, Eve, surely you of any folk has no right to get saying things. You, with your husband heapin’ up the dollars. Why, my dear, you don’t need to do all this. I mean this dressmakin’. You can set right out to do just those things you’d like to do, an’ leave the rest for folks that has to do it.”
She rose from her chair and came to her friend’s side, and gently placed an arm about her shoulders.
“My dear,” she went on kindly, “I came here now to talk straight to you. I didn’t know how I was to begin for sure, but you’ve saved me the trouble. I’ve watched you grow thinner an’ thinner. I’ve sure seen your poor cheeks fadin’, an’ your eyes gettin’ darker and darker all round ’em. I’ve seen, too, and worst of all, you don’t smile any now. You don’t never jolly folks. You just look, look as though your grave was in sight, and––and you’d already give my man the contract. I–––”
The girl’s gentle, earnest, half-humorous manner brought a shadowy smile to Eve’s eyes as she raised them 202 to the healthy face beside her. And Annie felt shrewdly that she’d somehow struck the right note.
“Don’t worry about me, Annie,” she said. “I’m good for a few years yet.” Then her eyes returned to the gloomy seriousness which seemed to be natural to them now. “I don’t know, I s’pose I’ve got the miserables, or––or something. P’raps a dash of that sunlight would do me good. And––yet––I don’t think so.”
Suddenly she freed herself almost roughly from Annie’s embracing arm and stood up. She faced the girl almost wildly, and leaned against the work-table. Her eyes grew hot with unshed tears. Her face suddenly took on a look of longing, of yearning. Her whole attitude was one of appeal. She was a woman who could no longer keep to herself the heart sickness she was suffering.
“Yes, yes, I am sick. It’s not bodily though, sure, sure. Oh, sometimes I think my heart will break, only––only I suppose that’s not possible,” she added whimsically. “Ah, Annie, you’ve got a good man. You love him, and he loves you. No hardship would be a trouble to you, because you’ve got him. I haven’t got my man, and,” she added in a low voice, “I don’t want him. That’s it! Stare, child! Stare and stare. You’re horrified––and so am I. But I don’t want him. I don’t! I don’t! I don’t! I hate him. I loathe him. Say it, Annie. You must think it. Every right-minded woman must think it. I’m awful. I’m wicked. I–––!”
She broke off on the verge of hysteria and struggled for calmness. Annie sensibly kept silent, and presently the distracted woman recovered herself.
“I won’t say anything like that again, dear. I mustn’t, but––but I had to say it to some one. You don’t know 203 what it is to keep all that on your mind and not be able to tell any one. But it’s out now, and I––I feel better, perhaps.”