But
my husband left me so poor, and I had always been accustomed to the
pretty things of life, and I couldn't--I couldn't give them up, Billy.
I love them too dearly. So I lie, and toady, and write drivelling
talks about things I don't understand, for drivelling women to
listen to, and I still have the creature comforts of life. I pawn my
self-respect for them--that's all. Such a little price to pay, isn't
it, Billy?"
She spoke in a sort of frenzy. I dare say that at the outset she
wanted Mr. Woods to know the worst of her, knowing he could not fail
to discover it in time. Billy brought memories with him, you see; and
this shrewd, hard woman wanted, somehow, more than anything else in
the world, that he should think well of her. So she babbled out the
whole pitiful story, waiting in a kind of terror to see contempt and
disgust awaken in his eyes.
But he merely said "I see--I see," very slowly, and his eyes were
kindly. He couldn't be angry with her, somehow; that pink-cheeked,
crinkly haired girl stood between them and shielded her. He was only
very, very sorry.
"And Kennaston?" he asked, after a little.
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