She was stricken into a statue, and was staring at me as at some strange creature from another planet.
I stood in silent misery. How had I hurt her?
She took a turn of the room, and flung herself on her knees at the couch, buried her face in her arms, and went into laughter mingled with sobs. I seated myself on the couch and laid a caressing hand on her head.
“Beela,” I pleaded, “forgive me. Let me know what I have done that hurt you.”
“No,” she cried. “I wouldn’t for all the world! My heart is breaking with gladness!”
Surely no other mortal could have put such startling contradictions into so few words. My hand found hers; she caught it tight.
“You dear old Joseph!” she said. “Choseph, Choseph!”
It was plainly hysteria; the brave soul had been on a breaking strain too long. I drew her to me, bent her head to my shoulder, and pressed my cheek to hers.
“Dear heart!” I said.
She made no resistance, and gradually grew quiet.