Gone was the elaborate coquetry of yesterday; gone the quiet roguishness of yesteryear; gone was all the Judith that I knew, and in her place stood a hollow-eyed woman shaking at gates eternally barred.
"I--thought you would come this morning.

I had that lingering faith in you." "Your face haunted me all night," I said.

"I was bound to come." "So, this is the end of it all," she remarked, stonily.
"No," said I."It only marks the transition from a very ill-defined relationship to as loyal a friendship as ever man could offer woman." She gave a quivering little shrug of disgust and turned away.
"Oh, don't talk like that 'I can't offer you bread, but I'll give you a nice round polished stone.' Friendship! What has a woman like me got to do with friendship ?" "Have I ever given you much more ?" "God knows what you have given me," she cried, bitterly.

She stared out of the window at the sodden street and murky air.

I went to her side and touched her wrist.
"For heaven's sake, Judith, tell me what I can do." "What's done is done," she said, between her teeth.