DOI article:
Watson, H. B. Marriott: The dead wall
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0246
The Dead Wall
242
critically. Even in the red light the colour of his face, which had
fallen into ugly lines, repelled her. “ Come, what is it ? Is any-
thing the matter with you ? Have you seen your doctor ? What
are you keeping from me ? ”
The questions ran off her tongue sharply, even acrimoniously.
She had anew the sense of irritation that he had chosen this hour
to be ill.
“ No,” he replied in a blank voice, “ I suppose I’m all right. I
don’t know. I’ve been—yes—I’m ill with the horrible trouble.
I’m-” He fell quickly upon his knees, burying his face in
her gown. “ Oh, Dolly, Dolly,” he sobbed, “I have ruined you,
and you don’t know it. It is all over—all over.”
Her eyes opened in alarm, but she did not move. “ What
nonsense are you talking, Freddy?” she asked in an uncertain
voice which rang harshly. “You’re ill. You’ve been overwork-
ing. You mustn’t. What foolishness !”
She laughed faintly, with embarrassment, and almost mechani-
cally put out a hand and touched his hair as though vaguely to
reassure him of his mistake ; while all the time her heart thumped
on and her mind was wondering in a daze.
At her touch he raised his head, and clutched her, crying, “Ah,
you do love me, Dolly. You do love me. I knew you loved
me. I knew you would be sorry for me.”
She sat motionless, fear reaching out arms for her heart. Slowly
she was beginning to understand.
“ What is it that you have done ? ” she asked in a dry voice.
He pressed her hand tightly, crushing her fingers. “ I have
taken money,” he whispered, “ trust money. I am ruined. I
must go to prison, unless I-”
She moistened her lips, impassive as ever.
“But you do love me,” he repeated, clinging to her. “Yes,
you
242
critically. Even in the red light the colour of his face, which had
fallen into ugly lines, repelled her. “ Come, what is it ? Is any-
thing the matter with you ? Have you seen your doctor ? What
are you keeping from me ? ”
The questions ran off her tongue sharply, even acrimoniously.
She had anew the sense of irritation that he had chosen this hour
to be ill.
“ No,” he replied in a blank voice, “ I suppose I’m all right. I
don’t know. I’ve been—yes—I’m ill with the horrible trouble.
I’m-” He fell quickly upon his knees, burying his face in
her gown. “ Oh, Dolly, Dolly,” he sobbed, “I have ruined you,
and you don’t know it. It is all over—all over.”
Her eyes opened in alarm, but she did not move. “ What
nonsense are you talking, Freddy?” she asked in an uncertain
voice which rang harshly. “You’re ill. You’ve been overwork-
ing. You mustn’t. What foolishness !”
She laughed faintly, with embarrassment, and almost mechani-
cally put out a hand and touched his hair as though vaguely to
reassure him of his mistake ; while all the time her heart thumped
on and her mind was wondering in a daze.
At her touch he raised his head, and clutched her, crying, “Ah,
you do love me, Dolly. You do love me. I knew you loved
me. I knew you would be sorry for me.”
She sat motionless, fear reaching out arms for her heart. Slowly
she was beginning to understand.
“ What is it that you have done ? ” she asked in a dry voice.
He pressed her hand tightly, crushing her fingers. “ I have
taken money,” he whispered, “ trust money. I am ruined. I
must go to prison, unless I-”
She moistened her lips, impassive as ever.
“But you do love me,” he repeated, clinging to her. “Yes,
you