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."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't expect anything of you--now. I suppose it's Colonel Hankin who
has been talking about my life? It wasn't Mr. Lucy, though you'd like to
make me think so."

"There's no need for anybody to talk. Do you suppose I don't know what
you are? You can't hide what's in you. You're--you're full of it. And
you've no shame about it. You can stand there, knowing that I know, and
ask me what you've done. How do I know what you've done? I don't want to
know it. It's bad enough to know what you are. And to know that I've
been living with it for three months. You got hold of me, an innocent
woman, and used me as a cover for your evil life. That's all you wanted
me for."

"Whatever I've done, I've done nothing to deserve that."

"You think not? Have you any idea what you've done--to me?"

"No; I haven't. What have I done?"

"I'm going to tell you. You've never ceased casting it up to me that I'm
not married, that I haven't your attractions--I thank heaven I have
not--I am not the sort of woman you take me for. I never have wanted to
be married, but if--if ever I had, I shouldn't want it now. You've
spoilt all that for me. I shall never see a man without thinking of
_you_. I shall hate every man I meet because of you."

"Well, hate them, hate them. It's better than loving them. Let me strap
that box. You'll tear your poor heart out."

Miss Keating wrenched the strap from Kitty's hands.

"Ah, how you hate me! Hate the men, dear, that can't do you any harm;
but don't hate the other women. At my worst I never did that."

Miss Keating shrugged her shoulders, for she was putting on her coat.
Kitty looked at her and sighed.