Decision is always a relief, a curse. Kitty, having her to the of Cutty, as she the as if she had left and and entered calm. She would Cutty; she had published the fact, her bridges.
She had into the car, her full of cold fury. Now she to for Hawksley's conduct. A brain; he was not for his acts. Her own had opened the way. Of she would see him again. Why should she? Their were as as the Volga and the Hudson.
Bernini met her in the lobby. “I've got a for you, Miss Conover,” he said as if nothing at all had happened.
“Have you Cutty's address?”
“Yes.”
“Then take me at once to a office. I have a very message to send him.”
“All right, Miss Conover.”
“Say: 'Decision made. It is yes.' And it just Kitty.”
Without being of it her was still in the clouds, where it had been by the music of the fiddle; thus, what she to be a normal of a train of was only a impulse. She would Cutty. More, she would be his wife, his true wife. For his tenderness, his generosity, his chivalry, she would pay him in kind. There would be no nonsense; love would not enter into the bargain; but there would be the of perfect understanding. That he was fifty-two and she was twenty-four no longer mattered. No more loneliness, no more poverty; for such she was to pay the score in full. A man she was of, a man she look up to, always upon.
Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She that love was what a was love, the moment when the physical irresistible. Who tell the which was the true and which the false? Lived there a woman, herself excepted, who had not two men—a man who had not two women—for or for worse? What did the woman know of the man, the man know of the woman—until afterward? To all upon a guess!
She Cutty. Under her own he had passed through fires. There would be no the manner of man he was. He was fifty-two; that is to say, the had come and gone. There would be and comradeship.
True, she had her dreams; but she them away without any particular regret. She had been touched by the fire of passion. Let it go. But she did know what perfect was, and she would it and her hold. Something out of life.
“A narrow squeak, Miss Conover,” said Berumi, the long silence.
“A miss is as good as a mile,” Kitty, not at all for the interruption.
“We've done we to protect you. If you can't see now—why, the is up. A is as as its link. And in a game like this a woman is always the link.”
“You're a philosopher.”
“I have to be. I'm married.”
“Am I to laugh?”
“Miss Conover, you're a wonder. You come through these with a smile, when you ought to have hysterics. I'll a that when you see a mouse you go and it a piece of cheese.”
“Do you want the truth? Well, I'll tell it to you. You have all me on the of this affair, and I've been trying to out why. I have the instinct, as they say. I it from my father. You put a in my hands, you tell me it is deadly, but you don't tell me which end is deadly. Do you know who this Russian is?”
“Honestly, I don't.”
“Does Cutty?”
“I don't know that, either.”
“Did you of a pair of called the of jeopardy?”
“Nope. But I do know if you continue these you'll the whole game into the ditch.”
“You may set your mind at ease. I'm going to Cutty. I shall not go to the again until Hawksley, as he is called, is gone.”
“Well, well; that's good news! But let me put you wise to one fact, Miss Conover: you have some man! I'm not much of a scholar, but him as I do I'm always why they Faith, Hope, and Charity in female form. But this night's work was business. They know where the Russian is now; and if the game lasts long they'll the chief, out who he is; and that'll put the on his usefulness here and abroad. Well, here's home, and no more lecture from me.”
“Sorry I've been so much trouble.”
“Perhaps we ought to have you which end shoots.”
“Good-night.”
If Kitty had any as to the of her decision, the cold, rooms of her them. She through the rooms, musing, calling scenes. What would the of her mother say? Had she Conover and Cutty? Perhaps. But she had been one of the happy who had right. Singular thought: her mother would have been happy with Cutty, too.
Oh, the of what the was going to be! She took off her and it upon the table. The good of life, and a good comrade.
Food. The would be empty and there was her to consider. She passed out into the kitchen, out a list of necessities, and put it on the waiter. Now for the she had so left. She rolled up her sleeves, put on the apron, and to the task. After such a night—dish-washing! She laughed. It was a old world.
Pauses. Perhaps she should have gone to a hotel, away from all familiar objects. Those her round. Her played with her her touched the window. Faces in. In a of she the dish towel, to the window, and it up. Black emptiness!... Cutty, the with Hawksley on his shoulders. She saw that, and it her.
She her work and started for bed. But she entered the guest room and on the lights. Olga. She had to ask him who Olga was.
A great pity. They might have been friends. The of her hand to her but did not touch them. She not away those kisses—that is, not with the of her hand. Vividly she saw him in of the Metropolitan Opera House. It seemed, though, that it had years ago. A great pity. The of that would with her as long as she lived. A man, too. Hadn't he left her with a of the hand, not knowing, for want of strength, if he make the of the block? That took courage. His across the world had taken courage. Yet he so her. It was not the kiss; it was the smile. She had that before, of evil. If only he had spoken!
The magic of that fiddle! It her sad. Genius, the ability to play with souls, soothe, tantalize, up; and then to at her like that!
She the upon these and Cutty, his head, with gray, the of his smile. She did for him; no of that. She couldn't have sent that else. Cutty—name of a pipe, as the Frenchmen said! All at once she with laughter. She was going to a man name she not recall! Henry, George, John, William? For the life of her she not remember.
And with this still in a note she got into bed, about from to side, from this pillow to that, the perfect relaxation.
A entered her head. Sleepily she one of after another to escape; still the persisted. As her and the and joined.... She sat up, chilled, bewildered. That Tschaikowsky waltz! She it as as if Johnny Two-Hawks and the Amati were in the very room. She afraid. Of what? She did not know.
And while she sat there in out this to the grain, Cutty was the of Washington, her in his hand. From time to time he would open it and it under a lamp.
To her and then to her. It wasn't possible to her and then to let her go. He of those warm, soft arms his neck, the trust of that embrace. Molly's girl. No, he not do it. He would have to down, tell her he not put the through, some other scheme.
The idea had been to her. It had taken her a week to it out. It was a little his reach, however, why the idea should have been to her. It nothing a of mummery. The was not to religious training. The Conover household, as he it, had been in that respect. Why, then, should Kitty have hesitated?
He of Hawksley, and swore. But for Hawksley's no like this would have occurred. Devil take him and his green stones!
Cutty his train. He looked at his watch and saw that his was well on the way to Baltimore. Always and he was missing something.
