CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brigit went for a long walk that afternoon, as was her wont when she
wished to think. As she started from the house she met Carron. "Look
here, Brigit," he said roughly, "you slept with your mother last night.
Was it because you were afraid I might come back?"
She eyed him with great coolness from under the shadow of her felt hat.
"No, I was afraid, when I left--my little brother--that you might _have
come back_." And she took her walking-stick from its place.
"I--I beg your pardon," he returned sullenly, looking at her as she
stood in the faint autumn sunshine, her well-cut coat and skirt somehow
failing to take from her her curious Indian air. "I was a beast."
"You always are, Gerald. Once when I was a child a spider bit me--or do
spiders sting? Well, it made me a bit sick at first, and then I--forgot
it. Good-bye."
The man's nerves were evidently in a bad state, for at her insult his
face broke out into a cold perspiration and went very white. "Oh--I am a
spider, am I? All right, I am glad I kissed you. Glad I held you close
in my arms. You can't undo that, whatever you may say."
She stood quietly swinging her stick, a smile just touching her
disdainful mouth.
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