The sinister and cynical idea leaped from its ambush. "Why, Cutty, I--I
don't believe I should mind. It's--it's you!" Vile wretch that she was!
Cutty, noting the lily succeeding the rose, did not kiss her. Fate has
a way of reversing the illogical and giving it logical semblance. It was
perfectly logical that he should not kiss her; and yet that was exactly
what he should have done. The fatherliness of the salute--and he
couldn't have made it anything else--would have shamed Kitty's peculiar
state of mind out of existence and probably sent back to its eternal
sleep that which was strangely reawaking in his lonely heart.
"Forgive me, Kitty. That wasn't exactly nice of me, even if I was trying
to be funny."
She tore away from him, flung herself upon the divan, her face in the
pillows, and let down the dam.
This wild sobbing--apparently without any reason terrified Cutty. He
put both hands into his hair, but he drew them out immediately without
retaining any of the thinning gray locks. Done up, both of them; that
was the matter. He longed to console her, but knew not what to say or
how to act. He had not seen a woman weep like this in so many years that
he had forgotten the remedies.
Should he call the nurse? But that would only add to Kitty's
embarrassment, and the nurse would naturally misinterpret the situation.
He couldn't kneel and put his arms round her; and yet it was a situation
that called for arms and endearments. He had sense enough to recognize
that. Molly's girl crying like that, and he able to do nothing! It was
intolerable. But what was she weeping about?
Covering the divan was a fine piece of Bokhara embroidery. He drew this
down over Kitty and tucked her in, turned off the light, and proceeded
to his bedroom.
Kitty's sobs died eventually. There was an occasional hiccup. That, too,
disappeared. To play--or even think of playing--a game like that! She
was despicable. A silly little fool, too, to suppose that so keen a mind
as Cutty's would not see through the artifice! What was happening to her
that she could let such a thought into her head?
By and by she was able to pick up Cutty's narrative and review it. Not a
word about the drums of jeopardy, the mark of the thong round Hawksley's
neck. Hadn't she let him know that she knew the author of that
advertisement offering to buy the drums, no questions asked? Very well,
then; if he would not tell her the truth she would have to find it out
herself.