Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/191

 Gretchen was silent.

"He would not listen at first." It seemed that having begun her confession she must speak now, though the words came falteringly from her trembling lips. "He said he didn't understand—he said there was no reason—I was playing with him. He spoke of my letters." She paused.

"Well?" gasped Gretchen breathlessly.

"Then I thought at any rate I would not deceive him any longer—it was no good—so I told him you wrote them Gretchen!—don't! you—you frighten me!" she whispered hoarsely.

Gretchen had seized her by the wrist. Her eyes were burning in a face as white as death; they seemed to scorch the girl cowering down before her.

"You little fool!" she exclaimed, her hands dropping heavily at her sides. Each word stung like the sharp point of an icicle.

Cecily staggered back as though she had been struck.

It was out at last! This was what Gretchen had been feeling about her every minute for a whole year. The words expressed her whole attitude towards her; it was what Cecily had all the time dumbly wished, yet dreaded to hear her say. It was almost a relief—but she was dazed and confused—she did not yet understand what had forced the words, what had impelled Gretchen, at last, to give her spoken verdict. She still gazed at her bewildered, hopeless.

"What did he think of me?" inquired Gretchen mockingly. Her tone was so careless and airy that Cecily half doubted for the moment whether she could have said those words in that voice a second before—then she looked again at her face, and knew that her ears had not deceived her.

She stood for a second with parted lips, and then a great fear crept up into her eyes, as she covered her face with both hands.

“Forgive