"No. I can't lose a minute. If I do, I shan't do it
at all."
"Look here, Persis," said her husband tenderly, "let me
do this thing."
"Oh, YOU!" said his wife, with a woman's compassionate
scorn for a man's helplessness in such a case. "Send her
right up. And I shall feel----" She stopped to spare him.
Then she opened the door, and ran up to her room without
waiting to speak to Irene, who had come into the hall
at the sound of her father's key in the door.
"I guess your mother wants to see you upstairs,"
said Lapham, looking away.
Her mother turned round and faced the girl's wondering
look as Irene entered the chamber, so close upon her
that she had not yet had time to lay off her bonnet;
she stood with her wraps still on her arm.
"Irene!" she said harshly, "there is something you
have got to bear. It's a mistake we've all made.
He don't care anything for you. He never did. He told
Pen so last night. He cares for her."
The sentences had fallen like blows. But the girl had
taken them without flinching. She stood up immovable,
but the delicate rose-light of her complexion went out
and left her colourless. She did not offer to speak.
"Why don't you say something?" cried her mother.
"Do you want to kill me, Irene?"
"Why should I want to hurt you, mamma?" the girl replied
steadily, but in an alien voice.
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