“Ah, my faith, no!” exclaimed Madame Foucault, bridling. “It was a bad sort, the other, a...! Ah, no.”
“Why do you ask my advice?” Sophia abruptly questioned, in a hard, inimical voice. “Is it that it concerns me?”
Tears came at once into the eyes of Madame Foucault. “Do not be unkind,” she implored.
“I’m not unkind,” said Sophia, in the same tone.
“Shall you leave me if I accept this offer?”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” said Sophia, bluntly. She tried to be large-hearted, large-minded, and sympathetic; but there was no sign of these qualities in her speech.
“And if you take with you the furniture which is yours...!”
Sophia kept silence.
“How am I to live, I demand of you?” Madame Foucault asked weakly.