Part 41 (1/2)

There was a knock at the door.

”It's Jane,” he said. ”I'll tell her not to come in.” His voice sounded hoa.r.s.e and unlike his own.

”Oh, mayn't I see her?”

He looked up with his clouded eyes. ”Do you want to?”

”Yes.”

He considered. He hesitated.

”Do you mind?”

”Mind?” he repeated. As if, after what they had gone through, there could ever be anything to mind. It seemed to him that things would always henceforth be insubstantial, and events utterly unimportant. He tried with an immense effort to grasp this event of Jane's appearance and of Kitty's att.i.tude to Jane.

”I thought,” he said, ”perhaps she would bother you.”

The knock came again.

”Robert,” she said, ”I don't want her to know--what I told you.”

”Of course not,” he said. ”Come in.”

Jane came in and closed the door behind her. She had a letter folded tightly in her hand. She stood there a moment, looking from one to the other. It was Kitty who spoke.

”Come in, Janey,” she said. ”I want you.”

Jane came forward and stood between them. She looked at Robert who hardened his face, and at Kitty who was trembling.

”Has anything happened?” she said.

And Kitty answered, ”No. Nothing will happen now. I've just told him that it can't.”

”You've given him up?”

”Yes. I've--given--him up.”

She drew in her breath on the ”Yes,” so that it sounded like a sob. The other words came slowly from her, one by one, as if she repeated them by rote, without knowing what they meant.

Jane turned to her brother. ”And you've let her do it?”

He was silent, still saying to himself, ”What next?”

”Of course he's let me. He knows it was the only thing I could do.”

”Kitty--what made you do it?”

Kitty closed her eyes. Robert saw her and gave a low inarticulate sound of misery. Jane heard it and understood.

”Kitty,” she said, ”have you made him believe you don't care for him?”