Art students -- Fiction; Aunts -- Fiction; Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Involuntarily Ruth had also risen, bewildered at the sudden change in
Gloria’s manner. Through the open doorway she could see George standing
in the dimly lighted hall beyond, his red eyes gleaming, fixed on
Gloria’s moving figure. She thought she understood, at least in part,
the reason for the sudden change and though she was trembling with the
unreasoning fear that assails the bravest in the face of the mysterious
and unknown, she forced herself to move across the room so that she
stood between George in the hall, and Gloria. She could almost feel his
malignant gaze on her back as she stood in the doorway, but she did not
falter.
“If you do that, Gloria, it will mean that you can’t work in Terry’s
play—It will mean giving up everything—your career and your income. Does
Prince Aglipogue know that?”
Gloria paused in her restless walk and looked at her from beneath her
troubled brows.
“I don’t care about the career; I’m tired of the stage, but what
difference will the income make? It’s such a little one, you know.”
“Still it may make a difference with Aglipogue, and if you give up your
career and your income you will be dependent on him. That should make a
difference to you.”
Ruth wondered afterward where she got all this worldly knowledge and how
she was able to say it, with George’s eyes burning into her back.
“What a practical child you are; but let’s not talk about it tonight.
I’m awfully tired. We were going to announce our engagement Christmas
Eve, but there’s no harm in your knowing.”
“Gloria, you can’t—you can’t marry him. He’s fat and selfish and
horrid!” In her excitement she forgot George and moved to Gloria’s side.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Gloria’s eyes looked across her, over her head and the trance-like look
came back into them.
“When you are as old as I you will know that physical appearance doesn’t
matter much. I don’t know why I’m marrying Aggie, but it seems to be
happening. So many things happen—I need a change; I want to travel in a
new country. Besides it’s all fixed—it’s too late now—too late—”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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