I suppose, she began, that you're wondering why I came to see you.
Why, no, said the Countess. I asked you to come.
At least you should wonder why I have not come sooner.
I confess, the Countess responded, that that has puzzled me.
I'll tell you why, Lennie went on in a dull, dead voice. I didn't come because I hate you!
Completely astonished—she wondered if the woman were mad—the Countess could only echo interrogatively: Hate me? Why?
That's it. You don't know. That's why I had to make myself come to see you. I don't suppose he's ever told you how much he means to me?
The Countess began to comprehend. Nevertheless, she thought it advisable to feign to be still mystified.
I don't know in the least what you are talking about, Miss Colman.
Lennie covered her face with her palms and began to sob. Please, she begged, please give him back to me.
Give whom back to you? the Countess demanded.
You know! O, you must know! Gareth. You have so much and I have so little. He was the only bright spot in my life. Now you've taken him away. O, you can go to Europe, to your friends. Everything is open to you. But . . . there is
