By the time Miss Towell had arrived at the hospital Letitia Rashleigh had sufficiently recovered to be dressed and seated in the armchair placed beside the bed in the small white ward. On one low bedpost the jacket had been hung, and on the other the battered black hat.
“There’s nothing the matter with her,” the nurse explained to Miss Towell, before entering the ward. “She had fainted in the subway, but I think it was only from fatigue, and perhaps from lack of food. She’s quite well nourished, only she didn’t seem to have eaten any supper, and was evidently tired from a long and frightening walk. She gives us no explanation of herself, and is disinclined to talk, and if it hadn’t been that she had your address in her pocket––”
“I think I know how she got that. From her name I judge that she’s a relative of the family in which I used to be employed; but as they were all very wealthy people––”
“Even very wealthy people often have poor relations.”
“Yes, of course; but I was with this family for so many years that if there’d been any such connection 297 I think I must have heard of it. However, it makes no difference to me, and I shall be glad to be of use to her, especially as she has in her possession an article—a thimble it is—which once belonged to me.”
At the bedside the nurse made the introduction. “This is the lady whose address you had in your pocket. She very kindly said she’d come and see what she could do for you.”
Having placed a chair for Miss Towell the nurse withdrew to attend to other patients in the ward, of whom there were three or four.
Letty regarded the newcomer with eyes that seemed lustreless in spite of their tiny gold flames. Having a shrewd idea of what she would mean to her visitor she felt it unnecessary to express gratitude. In a certain sense she hated her at sight. She hated her bugles and braid and the shape of her bonnet, as the criminal about to be put to death might hate the executioner’s mask and gaberdine. The more Miss Towell was sweet-spoken and respectable, the more Letty shrank from these tokens of hypocrisy in one who was wicked to the core. “She wouldn’t seem so wicked, not at first,” Steptoe had predicted, “but time’d tell.” Well, Letty didn’t need time to tell, since she could see for herself already. She could see from the first words addressed to her.
“You needn’t tell me anything about yourself, dear, that you don’t want me to know. If you’re without a place to go to, I shall be glad if you’ll come home with me.”
It was the invitation Letty had expected, and to which she meant to respond. Knowing, however, 298 what was behind it she replied more ungraciously than she would otherwise have done. “Oh, I don’t mind talking about myself. I’m a picture-actress, only I’ve been out of a job. I haven’t worked for over six months. I’ve been—I’ve been visiting.”