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"Oh, no, no," sobbed Ephic. "No, indeed!" "He was all I had all I cared for. And you plotted, and planned, and stole him from me with your silly baby face." "It's not true," wept Ephie. "How could I? I didn't know anything about you. He ... he never spoke of you." Louise laughed. "Oh, I can believe that! And you thought, didn't you, you poor little fool, that he only cared for you?
But that Ephic my little Ephie the child I that Ephie could ... could do a thing like this ..." Her voice tailed off in a sob. Maurice struck matches, to light her up the dark staircase; and the condition of the stairs, the disagreeable smells, the poverty of wall and door revealed, made Johanna's heart sink still further: to surroundings such as these had Ephie accustomed herself.
Here Ephie, bewitchingly dressed in blue, swung to and fro in a big American rocking-chair going backwards, it carried her feet right off the ground and talked charming nonsense, to the accompaniment of her own light laugh, and her mother's deeper notes, which went on like an organ-point, Mrs. Cayhill finding everything Ephic said, matchlessly amusing.
When he was safely past, she could not resist giving a furtive look behind her, and at precisely the same moment, he turned, too. In spite of her trouble, Ephic found the coincidence droll; she tittered, and he saw it, although she immediately laid the back of her hand on her lips. It was not in him to let this pass unnoticed. With a few quick steps, he was at her side.
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