The three winced as if the name had been a blow struck at them. The Colonel's silver eyebrows rose bristling. Mrs. Hankin got up and went out of the room. Mrs. Jurd bent her head over her knitting. None of them looked at Miss Keating; not even the Colonel, as he spoke. "If you feel like that about it," said he, "there is nothing more to be said." He rose and followed his wife. Upstairs, when their bedroom door had closed on them, he reproved her very seriously for her indiscretion. "You asked me," said he, "what I thought of Mrs. Tailleur, and I told you; but I never said you were to go and hand it on. What on earth have you been saying to those women?" "I didn't say anything to Miss Keating." "No, but you must have done to Mrs. What's-her-name?" "Not very much. I don't like talking about unpleasant subjects, as you know." "Well, somebody's been talking about them. I shouldn't wonder, after this, if poor Mrs. Tailleur's room were wanted to-morrow." "Oh, do you think they'll turn her out?" She was a kind woman and she could not bear to think it would come to that. The Colonel was silent. He was sitting on the bed, watching his wife as she undid the fastenings of her gown. At that moment a certain brief and sudden sin of his youth rose up before him. It looked at him pitifully, reproachfully, with the eyes of Mrs. Tailleur. "I wish," said Mrs. Hankin, "we hadn't said anything at all." "So do I," said the Colonel. But for the life of him he couldn't help saying something more. "If she goes," he said, "I rather think that young fellow will go, too." "And the sister?" "Oh, the sister, I imagine, will remain." CHAPTER VIII Kitty was dressed. She was calling out to her companion, "Bunny, hurry up, you'll be late." No answer came from the adjoining room. She tapped at the door and there was no answer. She tried to open the door. It was locked on the inside. "Bunny," she cried, "are you there?" She laid her ear to the panel. There was the sound of a box being dragged across the floor. "You _are_ there, are you? Why don't you answer? I can't hear you. Why can't you open the door?" Miss Keating unlocked the door. She held it ajar and spoke through the aperture. "Be good enough," she said, "to leave me alone." "All right; but you'll be awfully late for dinner." "I am not coming down to dinner." Miss Keating shut the door, but she did not lock it. Kitty gave a cry of distress. "Bunny, what _is_ the matter? Let me in--do let me in." "You can come in if you like." Kitty opened the door. But instead of going in, she stood fixed upon the threshold, struck dumb by what she saw. The room was in disorder. Clothes littered the bed. More clothes were heaped on the floor around an open trunk. Miss Keating was kneeling on the floor seizing on things and thrusting them into the trunk. Their strangled, tortured forms witnessed to the violence of her mood. "What _are_ you doing?" "You can see what I'm doing. I am packing my things."