Part 23 (1/2)
But Kitty shook her head.
”What's the good of my sending you to Matlock and those places if you come back in this state? You know, if you once get really thin, Kitty, you're done for.”
”Am I?” Her mouth trembled, not grossly, but with a small, fine quiver of the upper lip. The man had trained her well. She knew better than to cry before him.
The slender sign of emotion touched him, since it was not disfiguring.
”How long have you been starving yourself?” he asked more gently.
”I've not been starving myself. I've got a headache.”
He poured out some wine for her.
”You must either eat _or_ drink.”
”I don't want any.”
”Nonsense.”
”I--I can't. I feel sick.”
He raised his eyebrows.
”Need you mention it?”
”I wouldn't if you hadn't teased me so.”
”I beg your pardon.”
She began playing with some salted almonds.
”My _dear_ girl, I wouldn't eat those things if I were you.”
”I'm not eating them.” She pushed the dish from her. ”I'm afraid,” said she, ”it isn't a very nice dinner.”
He was looking at the _entree_ with interest and a slight suspicion.
”What is this?”
”Curried chicken.”
”Oh.” He helped himself fastidiously to curried chicken, tasted it with delicate deliberation, and left it on his plate.
”You are wise,” said he. ”There is a certain crude, unsatisfying simplicity about this repast.”
”Didn't I tell you?”
”You did.”
”You see now why I said you'd better go to the Metropole?”