Then there came, in a low, tense voice: 'If I thought that the children
I bore would lie looking like that in death, I'd strangle them when
they were infants, yes--' 'No, mother,' came the strange, clarion voice of Gerald from the
background, 'we are different, we don't blame you.' She turned and looked full in his eyes. Then she lifted her hands in a
strange half-gesture of mad despair.
'Pray!' she said strongly. 'Pray for yourselves to God, for there's no
help for you from your parents.' 'Oh mother!' cried her daughters wildly.
But she had turned and gone, and they all went quickly away from each
other.
When Gudrun heard that Mr Crich was dead, she felt rebuked. She had
stayed away lest Gerald should think her too easy of winning. And now,
he was in the midst of trouble, whilst she was cold.
The following day she went up as usual to Winifred, who was glad to see
her, glad to get away into the studio. The girl had wept, and then, too
frightened, had turned aside to avoid any more tragic eventuality. She
and Gudrun resumed work as usual, in the isolation of the studio, and
this seemed an immeasurable happiness, a pure world of freedom, after
the aimlessness and misery of the house. Gudrun stayed on till evening.
She and Winifred had dinner brought up to the studio, where they ate in
freedom, away from all the people in the house.
After dinner Gerald came up. The great high studio was full of shadow
and a fragrance of coffee. Gudrun and Winifred had a little table near
the fire at the far end, with a white lamp whose light did not travel
far. They were a tiny world to themselves, the two girls surrounded by
lovely shadows, the beams and rafters shadowy over-head, the benches
and implements shadowy down the studio.
'You are cosy enough here,' said Gerald, going up to them.
There was a low brick fireplace, full of fire, an old blue Turkish rug,
the little oak table with the lamp and the white-and-blue cloth and the
dessert, and Gudrun making coffee in an odd brass coffee-maker, and
Winifred scalding a little milk in a tiny saucepan.
'Have you had coffee?' said Gudrun.
'I have, but I'll have some more with you,' he replied.
'Then you must have it in a glass--there are only two cups,' said
Winifred.
'It is the same to me,' he said, taking a chair and coming into the
charmed circle of the girls. How happy they were, how cosy and
glamorous it was with them, in a world of lofty shadows! The outside
world, in which he had been transacting funeral business all the day
was completely wiped out. In an instant he snuffed glamour and magic.