"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?" "She has told me herself, Janey. She may have more reasons than you know." "She has none, none that I don't know. They're all there in that letter which you've burnt. Can't you see why it was written?" "Does it matter why?" "Yes, it does matter. It was written to make you give Kitty up. There's no reason why I should spare the woman who wrote it. She hates Kitty--because she wanted you for herself. Kitty knows that she's slandered her. She did it before she went, to her face, and Kitty forgave her. And now the poor child thinks that she'll let you go, and just creep away quietly and hide herself--from _that_. And you'll let her do it? You believe her when she says she doesn't care for you? If that isn't caring--Why it's _because_ she cares for you, and cares for your honour more than she does for her own, poor darling----" "I know, Janey. And she knows I know." "Then where's your precious honour if you don't stand up for her? She's got nobody but you, and if you don't defend her from that sort of thing----" She stood before him, flaming, and Kitty rose and put herself between them. "He can't defend me, Janey. It's the truth." CHAPTER XX She had left them to each other. It was eight o'clock. She had crept back again to the bed that was her refuge, where she had lain for the last hour, weeping to exhaustion. She had raised herself at the touch of a hand on her hot forehead. Jane was standing beside her. "Kitty," she said, "will you see Robert for a moment? He's waiting for you downstairs, in your room." Kitty dropped back again on her pillow with her arm over her face, warding off Jane's gaze. "No," she said, "I can't see him. I can't go through that again." "But, Kitty, there's something he wants to say to you." "There's nothing he can say. Nothing--nothing. Tell him I'm going away." "You mustn't go without seeing him." "I must. It's the only way." "For you--yes. How about him?" Kitty sighed. She stirred irresolutely on her pillow. "No, no," she said. "I've done it once. I can't do it all over again." "I suppose," said Jane, "it _is_ easier--not to see him." At that Kitty clenched her hands. "Easier?" she cried. "I'd give my soul to see him for one minute--one minute, Janey." She turned, stifling her sobs on her pillow. They ceased, and the passion that was in her had its way then. She lay on her face, convulsed, biting into the pillow; gripping the sheets, tearing at them and wringing them in her hands. Her whole body writhed, shaken and tormented. "Oh, go away!" she cried. "Go away. Don't look at me!" But Jane did not go. She stood there by the bedside.