Janet rose and
took a step or two toward her. Then she paused, and looked
at the little bronze image on the table instead. Elfrida
was suddenly shaken by deep, indrawn, silent sobs.
"It is finished, then," Janet said softly; "we are to
separate for always, Buddha, she and I. She will not know
any more of me nor I of her--it will be, so far as we
can make it, like the grave. You must belong to a strange
world, Buddha, always to smile!" She spoke evenly quietly,
with, restraint, and still she did not look at the
convulsively silent figure in the chair. "But I am glad
you will always keep that face for her, Buddha. I hope
the world will, too, our world that is sometimes more
bitter than you can understand. And I say good-by to you,
for to her I cannot say it." And she turned to go.
Elfrida stumbled to her feet and hurried to the door.
"No!" she said, holding it fast. "No! You must not go
that way--I owe you too much, after all. We will--we will
make the best of it."
"Not on that ground," Janet answered gravely. "Neither
your friendship nor mine is purchasable, I hope."
"No, no! That was bad. On any ground you like. Only stay
a little--let us find ourselves again!"
Elfrida forced a smile into what she said, and Janet let
herself be drawn back to a chair.
Pages:
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338