Page:Herbert Jenkins - The Rain Girl.djvu/280

 He paused, incoherent in his anguish. "Oh, please—please don't, Rain-Girl." Again he strove to remove her hands, but without success. She merely turned her head further from him.

Beresford looked about him wildly, as if seeking for inspiration or assistance. What was he to do? What?

Suddenly she removed her hands—she was laughing, yes, laughing right into his eyes.

In his astonishment he sat back on his heels and stared, unconscious of the ludicrous figure he cut.

"Oh, you do look so funny," she cried hysterically. "Please get up."

Slowly he rose, his dignity a little hurt, then seeing two tears trickling down her cheeks, he seated himself on the arm of the chair and drew her to him.

"My dear," he said gravely, "I'm—I'm—all—oh, everything's so muddled up. I don't know where I am—why I am. Sometimes I think I'm mad—I suppose I am really."

She looked up at him, a tired little smile softening the drawn, weary look of her face.

"I'm so tired, Jerry," she said, "I haven't slept a wink, not a little, teeny one," she added with a momentary flash of playfulness. "Please be nice to me. It's been very hard," she murmured; "so hard to make you like me." She closed her eyes wearily.

"My darling."

Beresford crushed her fiercely to him.