Sales running after me.' She paused.
Two stairs above her, Aunt Rose stood, listening with attention. She
was, as usual, all black and white; her neck, rising from the black
lace, looked like a bowl of cream laid out of doors to cool in the
night.
'He kissed me,' Henrietta said abruptly.
Rose did not move, and before she spoke Henrietta had time to wonder
what had prompted her to that confession. She had not thought about
it, the words had simply issued of themselves.
'Kissed you?'
'Yes,' Henrietta said, and suddenly she wanted to make it easier for
Aunt Rose. 'I think he was sorry for me. I told him I was unhappy, but
I couldn't tell him why, I couldn't say it was his wife. I think he
meant it kindly.'
'I am sure he did,' Rose said with admirable self-possession. 'You
look very young in that big hat, you are very young, and perhaps he
guessed what you had been through. Don't think about it any more.'
'No.' Henrietta seemed to have no control over her tongue. 'But then,
you see, I hit him.'
Rose managed a laugh. 'Oh, Henrietta, how primitive!'
'Yes,' Henrietta agreed, but she knew she had betrayed Francis Sales.
She knew and Rose knew that she would not have struck him if the kiss
had been paternal. 'I suppose it was vulgar,' she murmured sadly, yet
not without some skill.
Rose descended the two stairs without a word and went to the bottom of
the flight, but there she paused, saying, 'Take off your things and
let us have some music.
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