'Please don't call me Mrs Crich,' she cried aloud.
The name, in Loerke's mouth particularly, had been an intolerable
humiliation and constraint upon her, these many days.
The two men looked at her in amazement. Gerald went white at the
cheek-bones.
'What shall I say, then?' asked Loerke, with soft, mocking insinuation.
'Sagen Sie nur nicht das,' she muttered, her cheeks flushed crimson.
'Not that, at least.'
She saw, by the dawning look on Loerke's face, that he had understood.
She was NOT Mrs Crich! So-o-, that explained a great deal.
'Soll ich Fraulein sagen?' he asked, malevolently.
'I am not married,' she said, with some hauteur.
Her heart was fluttering now, beating like a bewildered bird. She knew
she had dealt a cruel wound, and she could not bear it.
Gerald sat erect, perfectly still, his face pale and calm, like the
face of a statue. He was unaware of her, or of Loerke or anybody. He
sat perfectly still, in an unalterable calm. Loerke, meanwhile, was
crouching and glancing up from under his ducked head.
Pages:
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931