She leaned towards me, and her left hand hung over the edge of the box.
"Women like Rosetta Rosa ought to be killed!" she said, with astonishing ferocity. Her rich, heavy contralto vibrated through me. She was excited again, that was evident. The nervous mood had overtaken her. The long pendent lobes of her ears crimsoned, and her opulent bosom heaved. I was startled. I was rather more than startled—I was frightened. I said to myself, "What a peculiar creature!"
"Why?" I questioned faintly.
"Because they are too young, too lovely, too dangerous," she responded with fierce emphasis. "And as for Rosa in particular—as for Rosa in particular—if you knew what I knew, what I've seen——"
"What have you seen?" I was bewildered. I began to wish that Sullivan had not abandoned me to her.
"Perhaps I'm wrong," she laughed.
She laughed, and sat up straight again, and resumed her excellent imitation of the woman of fashion, while I tried to behave as though I had found nothing singular in her behavior.
"You know about our reception?" she asked vivaciously in another moment, playing with her fan.
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Where have you been, Carl?"