"The disgrace of having a wicked parent! I've endured for years the disgrace of having a poor one--and that's worse. My people--the Samuelsons, I mean--will never even hear of the pater's escapade--gossip keeps strictly to its station. And even if they do, they know already my family's under a cloud, and they have learned to accept me for myself." "Well, I am glad you don't mind," said Salvina, half-relieved, half-shocked. "I mind, if it makes you uncomfortable, you dear, silly Sally." "Oh, don't worry about me. I think I'll go back to mother, now." "Nonsense, why, we haven't begun to talk yet. Have another cup of tea. No? How's old Miss What's-a-name, your head-mistress? Any more frozen little kittens?" "She's very kind, really. I'm sorry I told you about the kitten. She let me go home early on Friday." "Why? To track the van?" "No; I wasn't very well." "Poor Sally!" and Kitty hugged her again. "I daresay you were more upset than mother." Tears came into Salvina's eyes at her sister's affectionateness. "Oh, no; but please don't talk about it any more. Father is dead to us now." "Then we must speak well of him." Salvina shuddered. "He is a wicked, heartless man, and mother and I never wish to see his face again." A cloud darkened Kitty's blonde brow. "Yes, but she isn't going to marry another man, I hope." "How can she?" said Salvina. "I wouldn't let her make any public scandal." "But aren't there funny laws in our religion--_Get_ and things like that--which dispense with the English courts." "I believe there are--I read about something of the kind in a novel--oh, yes! and father did offer mother _Get_ before he went off, so I suppose he considers his conscience clear." "Well, I rely upon you, Sally, to see that she doesn't marry or complicate things more. We don't want two wicked parents." "Of course not. But I am sure she doesn't dream of any new complications. You don't do her justice, Kitty. She's just broken-hearted; a perpetual widow, with worse than her husband's death to lament." "Yes--her lost furniture." "Oh, Kitty, do realize what it means." "I do, my dear. I do realize it--it's too killing. Passion in a Pantechnicon or Elopements economically conducted. By the day or hour. Oh, dear, oh, dear! But do promise me, Salvina, that you won't go back to Spitalfields." "I must be somewhere near the school, dearest. It will save train-fares." Kitty pouted. "Well, you know I couldn't drive up to see you any more; Hackney was all but outside the radius--the radius of respectability. I couldn't ask coachman to go to Spitalfields--unless I pretended to be slumming." "Well, pretend." "Oh, Salvina! I thought you were so conscientious. No, I'll have to come in a cab. You're quite sure you won't have some more tea? Oh, do, I insist. One piece of sugar?" "Yes, thank you, dear. By the way, has Sugarman the Shadchan been here?" "You mean--has he gone?"