Page 669 - women-in-love

‘Bitte sagen Sie nicht immer, gnadige Frau,’ cried Gudrun,
her eyes flashing, her cheeks burning. She looked like a viv-
id Medusa. Her voice was loud and clamorous, the other
people in the room were startled.
‘Please don’t call me Mrs Crich,’ she cried aloud.
The name, in Loerke’s mouth particularly, had been
an intolerable humiliation and constraint upon her, these
many days.
The two men looked at her in amazement. Gerald went
white at the cheek-bones.
‘What shall I say, then?’ asked Loerke, with soft, mock-
ing insinuation.
‘Sagen Sie nur nicht das,’ she muttered, her cheeks flushed
crimson. ‘Not that, at least.’
She saw, by the dawning look on Loerke’s face, that he
had understood. She was NOT Mrs Crich! So-o-, that ex-
plained a great deal.
‘Soll ich Fraulein sagen?’ he asked, malevolently.
‘I am not married,’ she said, with some hauteur.
Her heart was fluttering now, beating like a bewildered
bird. She knew she had dealt a cruel wound, and she could
not bear it.
Gerald sat erect, perfectly still, his face pale and calm,
like the face of a statue. He was unaware of her, or of Loerke
or anybody. He sat perfectly still, in an unalterable calm.
Loerke, meanwhile, was crouching and glancing up from
under his ducked head.
Gudrun was tortured for something to say, to relieve
the suspense. She twisted her face in a smile, and glanced

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