She had sat so long and
so quietly regarding the situation that she became
conscious of the physical discomfort of stiffened limbs.
She leaned back in her chair and put her feet on another,
and lighted a cigarette.
"No, Buddha," she said, as if to a confessor, "don't
think it of me. It was a lie, a pose to tempt him on. I
would never have given it up--never! It is more to me
--I am _almost_ sure--than he is. It is part of my soul,
Buddha, and my love for him--oh, I cannot tell!"
She threw the cigarette away from her and stared at the
smiling image with heavy eyes in silence. Then she went
on:
"But I always tell you everything, little bronze god,
and I won't keep back even this. There was a moment when
I would have let him take me in his arms and hold me
close, close to him. And I wish he had--I should have
had it to remember. Bah! why is my face hot! I might as
well be ashamed of wanting my dinner!"
Again she dropped into silence, and when next she spoke
her whole face had hardened.
"But no! He thinks that he has read me finally, that he
has done with me, that I no longer count! He will marry
some red-and-white cow of an Englishwoman who will accept
herself in the light of a reproductive agent and do her
duty by him accordingly.
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