'I'm very ill,' she said faintly.
'I'm sorry.'
'Oh, don't say that. You may as well tell the truth--to me.'
'Then I must say again that I am sorry.'
'I wonder why.'
To that Rose made no answer, and before Christabel spoke again she had
time to notice that the cat had gone. She breathed more easily. The
cat had gone, the trees were going and Francis was going too. Suddenly
she felt she did not care. The idea of an empty world was pleasant,
but if Francis were really going, the cat might as well have stayed.
'Tell me what you did in Scotland,' Christabel said.
'I showed Henrietta all the sights.'
'Oh, Henrietta--she's a horrid girl. She has stopped coming to see
me.'
'You made yourself so unpleasant.'
'Did she tell you that? Do you think she told Francis?'
'I know she didn't.'
'But I can't make out why she should tell you.'
'Henrietta and I are great friends.'
'How did you manage that?'
'I don't know,' Rose said slowly. 'What has happened to the cat?'
'It's gone. It went out and never came back.'
'How queer.'
'Some one must have killed it.'
'I don't think so,' Rose said thoughtfully. 'I think it decided to go.
I'm sure it did.'
'What do you mean? What do you mean?' Christabel cried. 'Had you
something to do with that, too?'
'Not that I know of.' Rose laughed. She was tired of considering every
word before she uttered it.
'With that too!' Christabel repeated a little wildly, and then in a
firm voice she said, 'You've got to tell me.
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