Part 13 (1/2)
”There won't be any scene. I'm not going to read your beastly letter.”
She opened the envelope and removed the notes and laid them on the dressing-table. Then she tore up the letter and the envelope together and tossed them into the grate.
”And I'm not going to take those notes.”
”Nor am I.”
”You'll have to.” She found her companion's purse and tucked the notes inside it. Miss Keating turned on her. ”Mrs. Tailleur, you shall not thrust your money on me. I will not take it.”
”You little fool, you've got to.”
Miss Keating closed her eyes. It was a way she had. ”I can't. And you must please take back the things you've given me. They are all there; in that heap on the bed.”
Kitty turned and looked at them. They were all there; everything she had ever given to her, the dresses, the combs, the little trinkets. She took some of these and stared at them as she held them in her hand.
”Won't you keep anything?”
”I won't keep a thing.”
”Not even the little chain I gave you? Oh, Bunny, you liked your little chain.”
Miss Keating took the chain from her and laid it with the rest.
”Please leave me to pack.”
”Presently. Bunny--look at me--straight. Why are you doing this?”
”I wish to be spared the unpleasantness of speaking.”
”But you've got to speak. Out with it. What have I done?”
”You know better than I do what your life has been.”
”My life? I should think I did. Rather.”
Kitty crossed the room to the bell.
”What time does your train go?”
”My----? I--must leave this at seven-thirty.”
Kitty rang the bell. A housemaid appeared.
”I want a fly at seven-thirty. Please see that Miss Keating's luggage is downstairs by then. Her room will not be wanted.”
Miss Keating's face was livid.
”You wish,” said she, ”the hotel people to think that it is you who have given _me_ notice?”
”You poor thing. I only wanted the fly to go down to my account.”