Revelations of a Wife: The Story of a HoneymoonGarrison, Adele
General
Revelations of a Wife: The Story of a Honeymoon
Garrison, Adele
Married people -- Fiction
Her voice had been absolutely emotionless as she told me the story. As
she busied herself with setting out attractively on a small table the
delicious breakfast Katie had brought, I had a queer idea that if it
were not for the publicity that would inevitably follow, Lillian would
not very much regret the ultimate success of Grace Draper's attempt at
self-destruction.
XXIX
"BUT YOU WILL NEVER KNOW--"
I do not believe that ever in my life can I again have an experience
so horrible as that which followed the development of infection in the
dagger wound which Grace Draper had inflicted upon herself after her
unsuccessful attempt to shoot Dicky.
Against the combined protest of Dicky and Lillian, I shared the care
of the girl with the trained nurse whom Lillian's forethought had
provided and Dicky's money had paid for.
The reason for my presence at her bedside was a curious one.
At the close of the third day following the girl's attempt at murder
and self-destruction, Lillian came to the door of the room where I was
reading to Dicky, who was now almost recovered, and called me out into
the hall.
"Madge," she said abruptly, "that poor girl in there has been calling
for you for an hour. We tried every way we could think of to quiet
her, but nothing else would do. She must see you. I imagine she has
made up her mind she's going to die and wants to ask your forgiveness
or something of that sort."
"I will go to her at once," I said quietly. As I moved toward the door
my knees trembled so I could hardly walk.
Lillian came up to me quickly and put her strong arm around me.
We went down the hall to a wonderful room of ivory and gold, which I
knew must be Lillian's guest room. In a big ivory-tinted bed the girl
lay, a pitiful wreck of the dashing, insolent figure she had been.
Her face was as white as the pillows upon which she lay, while her
hands looked utterly bloodless as they rested listlessly upon the
coverlet. Only her eyes held anything of her old spirit. They looked
unusually brilliant. I wondered uneasily if their appearance was the
result of their contrast to her deathly white face or whether the
fever which the doctor dreaded had set in.
She looked at me steadily for a long minute, then spoke huskily--I was
surprised at the strength of her voice.
"Of course I have no right to ask anything of you, Mrs. Graham," she
said, "but death, you know, always has privileges, and I am going to
die."
I saw the nurse glance swiftly, sharply, at her, and then go quietly
out of the room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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