“I didn’t ought to.”
He withdrew his arm and lay back in his own corner:
“It’s a free country. Don’t come if you don’t like.”
There was a second silence, and the girl turned to him timidly, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking at him through a mist of tears.
“I’m frightened,” she whispered. “Be nice to me! Do you want me?”
Gaymer kissed her mechanically and with contempt for her cheap surrender. He had asserted himself against the young Jew and against this girl, but the proof of power brought him no satisfaction. For a week or two Gracie might amuse him; then they would grow tired of each other, there would be recriminations and a scene, he would have to find some one to take her place. And, while she was with him, she had nothing but her meagre looks and the servile passion which he had inspired. They might live together, but he would never deign to share his life with her....
“Is it far?,” she asked. “I’m so tired.”
Gaymer did not care whether she was tired or not; nothing that she could say or do would rouse him to tenderness; nothing that could happen to her would stir him to concern. She was useful, she could never be essential; a servant to be engaged and replaced. He despised her because she could give him no companionship; very soon, he knew, he would loathe her....
“If you’re tired, you’d better go home,” he said.
“You are horrid to me!,” she whimpered.