And Lady Kingsmead, whose hysterical excitement was now well beyond control, screamed out that she did believe it.
Brigit rose. "Very well. Think as you like. And—good-bye."
She left the house without a word, and taking a hansom went straight to Golden Square.
Félicité, who was alone, kissed her kindly and insisted on giving her tea. This, however, Brigit refused. Desperate as she was, she had come to the point of feeling that she could never again accept the little woman's hospitality. What she was going to do she did not know, but she was not going to marry Théo, and she would never again come to Golden Square.
"No, thanks," she said gently, "I want to see your husband, so as you think he is there, I will rush up to Chelsea. You look tired—petite mère."
Félicité smiled. "I am. I have been turning out our room and re-hanging all the pictures. But I like doing it. How is dear Tommy?"
"Much better, thanks. He is going to Margate to-morrow—to the sea, you know."
Félicité went downstairs with her and kissed her again at parting. "Théo will be very glad you are in town," she said. "And you, my daughter—do things go better with you?"
Touched by the kind light in her innocent eyes, Brigit lied. "Ah, yes, much better, thank you," she returned; "everything is all right."
And when she was in her hansom hurrying Chelseawards, she felt with a sigh that it was a harmless lie.