"Oh, I don't mean exactly what you've done, but what you are." She came suddenly across the room, bent down, and kissed Ora's cheek. Then, as she straightened herself again, she said, "I don't think we can be friends."
At first Ora laughed, but, seeing Irene very grave, she looked at her with scared eyes. Irene met her gaze fully and directly.
"You didn't tell me all Alice Muddock said to you," said Irene.
"No, not quite," Ora murmured; "it was horrid."
"She's told me since. Well, she only said what you've made us all think of you."
"You?" asked Ora, her eyes still set on her friend.
"Yes," said Irene Kilnorton, and, turning away, she sat down by the window. A silence followed, broken only by a stamp of the hoof from the cab-horse at the door. Then Irene spoke again. "Don't you see that you can't go on as you've been going on, that it's impossible, that it ruins everybody's life who has anything to do with you? Don't you see how you're treating your husband? Don't you see what you're doing to Ashley Mead?"
Ora had turned rather white, as she had when Alice Muddock told her that not for the sake of fame would she pay Ora's price. They were both against her.
"How hard people are!" she cried, rising and walking about the room. "Women, I mean," she added a moment later.
"Oh, I know you make men think what you like," said Irene scornfully. "We women see what's true. I'm sure I don't want to distress you, Ora."