’Rubbish!  Of course you meant it.  You have thought it every day, and you’ll say it again, behind my back, if not to my face.  Stand up, and don’t make yourself sillier than you are.’

’You can’t call me anything too bad—­but don’t drive me away.  I can’t bear it.  You are the only friend I have in the world—­the only, only friend.  No one was ever kind and good to me but you, and this is how I have repaid you.  Oh, I hate myself!  I could tear my tongue out for saying such things.  Only say that you’ll try to forgive me—­dear Nancy—­dear—­’

She fell with face upon the carpet, and grovelled there in anguish of conflicting passions, a lamentable object.  Unable to bear the sight of her, Nancy moved away, and stood with back turned, perforce hearing the moans and sobs and half-articulate words which lasted until the fit of hysteria left its victim in mute exhaustion.  Then, contemptuously pitiful, she drew near again to the prostrate figure.

’Stand up at once, and let us have an end of this vulgar folly.  Stand up, or I’ll leave you here, and never speak to you again.’

‘Nancy—­can you forgive me?’

’I believe you have never got over your illness.  If I were you, I should see the doctor again, and try to be cured.  You’ll end in an asylum, if you don’t mind.’

’I often feel almost mad—­I do really.  Will you forget those dreadful words I spoke?  I know you can’t forgive me at once—­’

’Only stand up, and try to behave like a reasonable being.  What do I care for your words?’

The girl raised herself, threw her arms over a chair, and wept miserably.

CHAPTER 2

On an afternoon at the end of October, Samuel Barmby, returned from business, found Miss.  Morgan having tea with his sisters.  For a month or two after Midsummer the Barmbys had scarcely seen her; now their friendly intercourse was renewed, and Jessica came at least once a week.  She had an engagement at a girls’ school in this neighbourhood, and, though her health threatened another collapse, she talked of resuming study for the Matriculation of next year.

Samuel, perfectly aware of the slavish homage which Miss.  Morgan paid him, took pleasure in posing before her.  It never entered his mind to make any return beyond genial patronage, but the incense of a female devotee was always grateful to him, and he had come to look upon Jessica as a young person peculiarly appreciative of intellectual distinction.  A week ago, walking with her to the omnibus after an evening she had spent in Dagmar Road, he had indulged a spirit of confidence, and led her to speak of Nancy Lord.  The upshot of five minutes’ conversation was a frank inquiry, which he could hardly have permitted himself but for the shadow of night and the isolating noises around them.  As an intimate friend, did she feel able to tell him whether or not Miss.  Lord was engaged to be married?  Jessica, after a brief silence, answered that she did not feel at liberty to disclose what she knew on the subject; but the words she used, and her voice in uttering them, left no doubt as to her meaning.  Samuel said no more.  At parting, he pressed the girl’s hand warmly.