She did not enter into the troubled prevision of
Gladys, who had been furtively watching a strange absorption that was
growing in Lillian's manner, a fevered light in her eyes. Suddenly, as if
in response to a summons, Lillian rose, and, standing tall and erect in
her long black dress, she spoke in a voice that seemed not her own, so
assured, so strong, monotonous yet distinct.
"You cruel woman," she said, as if impersonally. But Gladys perceived in
a moment that she had in mind her own arraignment, as if another were
taxing her with a misdeed. "In this bitter black night, in this furious
ice-storm, and you did not forbid it! You did not explain your need. You
summoned him to risk his life, _his life_, that he might something the
earlier offer his fallible opinion, perhaps worth no more than that bit
of stone! You would not wait till daylight--you would not wait one hour.
You cruel woman! Already you had the best of him, his heart, to throw
away at a word as if it were naught--merely a plaything, a tawdry
gaud--the best and tenderest and noblest heart that ever beat!--and for a
silly quarrel, and for your peevish vanity, you consented to humiliate
his honest pride and to hold him up to ridicule, jilted on his
wedding-day.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149