st him to the height of
her own passion.

"Yes: I know him; he will help you," she said; and in a moment Lily's
passion was weeping itself out against her breast.

There was but one bed in the little flat, and the two girls lay down on
it side by side when Gerty had unlaced Lily's dress and persuaded her to
put her lips to the warm tea. The light extinguished, they lay still in
the darkness, Gerty shrinking to the outer edge of the narrow couch to
avoid contact with her bed-fellow. Knowing that Lily disliked to be
caressed, she had long ago learned to check her demonstrative impulses
toward her friend. But tonight every fibre in her body shrank from Lily's
nearness: it was torture to listen to her breathing, and feel the sheet
stir with it. As Lily turned, and settled to completer rest, a strand of
her hair swept Gerty's cheek with its fragrance. Everything about her was
warm and soft and scented: even the stains of her grief became her as
rain-drops do the beaten rose. But as Gerty lay with arms drawn down her
side, in the motionless narrowness of an effigy, she felt a stir of sobs
from the breathing warmth beside her, and Lily flung out her hand, groped
for her friend's, and held it fast.

"Hold me, Gerty, hold me, or I shall think of things," she moaned; and
Gerty silently slipped an arm under her, pillowing her head in its hollow
as a mother makes a nest for a tossing child. In the warm hollow Lily lay
still and her breathing grew low and regular. Her hand still clung to
Gerty's as if to ward off evil dreams, but the hold of her fingers
relaxed, her head sank deeper into its shelter, and Gerty felt that she
slept.

Chapter 15

When lily woke she had the bed to herself, and the winter light was in
the room.

She sat up, bewildered by the strangeness of her surroundings; then
memory returned, and she looked about her with a shiver. In the cold
slant of light reflected from the back wall of a neighbouring building,
she saw her evening dress and opera cloak lying in a tawdry heap on a
chair. Finery laid off is as unappetizing as the remains of a feast, and
it occurred to Lily that, at home, her maid's vigilance had always spared
her the sight of such incongruities. Her body ached with fatigue, and
with the constriction of her attitude in Gerty's bed. All through her
troubled sleep she had been conscious of having no space to toss in, and
the long effort to remain motionless made her feel as if she had spent