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?"
She sat down on the couch beside her and covered her hands with her own.
"It isn"t true, Robert," she said. "She doesn"t know what she"s doing.
Kitty, tell him it isn"t true."
The trembling hands broke loose from her. Kitty sobbed once and was still. At the sound Robert turned on Jane.
"Leave her alone," he said, "she doesn"t want to be bothered about it now."
Kitty"s hand moved back along the couch to Jane. "No," she said, "don"t make her leave me. I"m going away soon."
He started to that answer to his question, "What next?"
"Tell me what made you do it?" said Jane again.
"Whatever it was," he said, "she"s doing perfectly right."
"I know what she"s doing. And I know why she"s doing it. Can"t you see why?"
Robert, who had stood still looking at her helplessly, turned away at the direct appeal and walked up and down, up and down, the room. He was still saying to himself, "And if she goes, what next?"
"She doesn"t mean it, Robert. It"s these wretched people who have driven her to it with the abominable things they"ve said and thought. You _can"t_ let her give you up. Don"t you see that it"ll look as if you didn"t believe in her? And he does believe in you, Kitty dear. He doesn"t care what anybody says."
Kitty spoke. "Leave it alone, Janey. You don"t know what you"re talking about. You don"t even know what it is they say."
"I do," said Jane. She rose and went to her brother and thrust the letter she held into his hand. "Look there, that came just now."
He glanced at the letter, lit a match and set fire to it and dropped the ashes into the grate.
"Look at him, Kitty, look at him," she cried triumphantly.
"What was in that letter?"
"Nothing that matters."
"Who wrote it?"
"n.o.body who matters in the very least."
"Was it Mr. Marston? Tell me."
"No."
"He wouldn"t," said Kitty thoughtfully. "It"s women who write letters.
It must have been Grace Keating. She hates me."
"I know she hates you. Do you see now why Kitty"s giving you up?"