Of all the martyrdoms allotted to love's victims, she was
enduring the bitterest, which is the martyrdom of frustration. Yet
because she appeared dull and undesirable on the surface, he had
declined, with the rest of Old Church, to regard her emotions any less
casually than he regarded her complexion.
"Well, I ought to be a proud man to have you, Judy," he remarked, and
rose to his feet.
"I hope neither of us will ever regret it," she returned.
"Not if I can help it," he said, and, putting his arm around her, he
drew her to him and kissed her lips. It was the second time he had
kissed her, and on the first occasion she had burst into hysterical
weeping. He did not know that it was the only caress she had ever
received, and that she had wept because it had fallen so far short of
what her imagination had deluded her into expecting. Now, though she
had herself well in hand and gave no visible sign of her disappointment,
there was a fierce, though unspoken, protest in her heart. "To think
that after all the nights I've lain awake an' wondered what 'twas
like, it should turn out to be so terrible flat," she said bitterly to
herself.
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