The question suddenly restored her balance. But she wanted to scream. Instead, she uttered a short laugh.
“I was thinking what a screaming farce this would make in hell!” she said, gutturally.
Mrs. Bebro looked at her enquiringly. The conception was beyond her.
“Yes, I am sure the Evil One must have a hand in it,” she said, at last, in a tone of assent. “Circumstances are diabolically against him. Oh, it gives me the horrors to think of it—and how proud and handsome he looked standing there—as if everyone was the dirt under his feet. Do you know, dear—about you and him—if he had been one of our people I could have fancied——”
She broke off. The carriage was blocked at Piccadilly Circus. A newspaper boy darted up to the open window, flourishing an evening paper.
“Sunnington murder! latest details!”
Minna threw herself aside onto Mrs. Bebro with a piercing shriek. There was a rush of startled and attracted bystanders. Mrs. Bebro stretched across Minna and pulled up the glass. The carriage moved on. She took the shaking girl in her arms and held her to her bosom, uttering motherly words of soothing.
But that sudden shriek was the beginning of things. All the rest of the drive home she lay quite still, continuing the comedy and the mystification of the worthy, single-minded woman; but in order to do so, she was forced to keep her gloved fingers between her teeth.
“There, there,” continued Mrs. Bebro, petting her. “Don’t take on so, dear. We must bear all the afflictions that the Lord sends us. Bear up, dear, under them, like a Jewish maiden. We will put you to bed, with something hot and nice to take, and you will sleep and wake up strong to-morrow.”
And so the good woman went on, seeking to heal the bayonetted body with housewifely sticking-plaster.