In one way it was merciful. It was quickly over. Perry's self-consciousness passed. Calm as she had been impudent he surveyed her. Once his lip twitched; he half-opened his mouth as if to speak, and then thought better of it. He'd talk to no woman like that. He left her without a word. And she sat biting her lip a little while, till Dunham came to the table. "Honey--" he began. "Don't honey me!" The words lashed back at him. "I'm sick of honeying. Talk cash!" And Dunham was sick of temporizing. He talked. So when Cecille came in the next day, Saturday, at noon, and found Felicity with her bag packed, few words were necessary. She knew the moment had come. CHAPTER X CECILLE PLAYS THE GAME Cecille had tried often to imagine what that moment was going to be like. More than once she had dreaded that it would find her cheaply dramatic; that nervous sentiment would surprise her and break her down. Now she met it, unconcerned, without the slightest sense of shock. She had never doubted that Felicity would be anything but matter-of-fact and jaunty, right up to the end. Now it was the other girl who displayed unexpected feeling. For Cecille had learned that morning that Perry was leaving at midnight for the South. With Felicity gone she realized how little chance there was of his ever returning again to frequent the apartment. And nothing else in the world much mattered. She was too deep sunk in misery even to try to dissemble her apathy. But Felicity had not forgotten a single night when she had waked to hear the other girl crying; she missed nothing of her present dejection. "Well, I'm off!" This without even turning from the mirror. Cecille failed to answer. She crossed the room and dropped heavily into a chair. "We're catching the three-thirty this afternoon for the West." Again silence for a while, and then a dry, strained question. "Aren't you afraid?" She'd made up her mind to ask at least that question. She had admitted to herself that she had to ask it. And her tone made Felicity wheel. "Of what?" Felicity demanded, a little blank. Cecille laughed. It was a woeful, croaking attempt at flippancy. "Oh, the old line of stuff!" She had never before employed Felicity's brand of slang. It came unpleasantly from her tongue. "The wages of sin and all that sort of thing." That brought Felicity across the room until she stood, hands bracketed on hips, above her. "Don't you worry about me, Cele," she said slowly. "Don't you nor any one else spend any pennies buying extras, expecting to strike news of my violent and untimely end. Safety First; that's my maiden name. I let Dunham drive thirty-five when he's sober. When he isn't, I walk. And I'm going to be that careful about deep water that I'll bathe always under a shower. Don't you worry about me." She paused soberly. "It's you," she stated, "I'm worried about." It was Felicity who displayed feeling at the end.