They had forgotten about
themselves in the absorption of other thoughts.
"I must go," Elfrida said, with an effort; rising. What
had come to her with this thing Janet had told her? Why
had she this strange fullness in the beating of her heart,
this sense, part of shame, part of fright, part of
happiness, that had taken possession of her? What had
become of her strained feeling about Janet? For it had
gone, gone utterly, and with it all her pride, all her
self-control. She was conscious only of a great need of
somebody's strength, of somebody's thought and interest
--of Janet's. Yet how could she unsay anything? She held
out her hand, and Janet took it. "Good-by, then," she
said.
"Good-by; I hope you will escape the rain." But at the
door Elfrida turned and came back. Janet was mechanically
stirring the coals in the grate.
"Listen!" she said. "I want to tell you something about
myself."
Janet looked up with an inward impatience. She knew these
little repentant self-revealings so well.
"I know I'm a beast--I can't help it. Ever since I heard
of your success I've been hating it! You can laugh if
you like, but I've been _jealous_--oh, I'm not deceived;
very well, we are acquainted, myself and I! It's pure
jealousy--I admit it.
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