For, together with her daily work, much of her confidence had gone;
an inexplicable shame constantly troubled her. She longed to hide
herself away, and be alone with her wretchedness.
If it came to asking for help, of whom could she ask it but of
Waymark? Yet for some time she felt she could not bring herself to
that. In the consciousness of her own attitude towards him, it
seemed to her that Waymark might well doubt the genuineness of her
need, might think it a mere feint to draw him into nearer relations.
She could not doubt that he knew her love for him; she did not
desire to hide it, even had she been able. But him she could not
understand. A struggle often seemed going on within him in her
presence; he appeared to repress his impulses; he was afraid of her.
At times passion urged her to break through this barrier between
them, to bring about a situation which would end in clear mutual
understanding, cost her what it might. At other times she was driven
to despair by the thought that she had made herself too cheap in his
eyes. Could she put off the last vestige of her independence, and,
in so many words, ask him to give her money?
This evening she expected Waymark, but the usual time of his coming
went by.
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