“When we shook hands on it up there in the draw,” Kate went on, sadly, “I didn’t dream how soon or how much I should need you. And women do need each other in trouble, don’t they?” earnestly.
Mrs. Toomey nervously tucked in her “scolding locks.”
“Er—of course,” constrainedly. Her mind was rambling from Jap to Mrs. Pantin and the vigilant neighbors.
Kate rose suddenly, and crossing the room stooped to lay her gloved hand upon Mrs. Toomey’s thin shoulders. Looking into her eyes she demanded:
“You don’t believe I did it, do you?”
This was a question Mrs. Toomey could answer truthfully and she did, with convincing sincerity:
“No, I don’t!”
“I knew it!” There was a joyous note in Kate’s voice, and gratitude. “I was sure you were true-blue, and I know I’m going to love you!”
Lifting the woman to her feet, with an arm about her shoulders, Kate kissed her impulsively. She was so slight, so crushable, that Kate experienced a sense of shock as one does when he feels the bones of a little bird through its feathers. Her frailty appealed to something within the girl that was like masculine chivalry, awakening a desire that was keener than ever to protect and help her, while, as before, Mrs. Toomey felt the magnetism of the younger woman’s health and strength and courage. Nevertheless, she was panic-stricken at what Kate was taking for granted and her quick little mind was darting about like some frightened rodent from corner to corner, thinking how she was going to disentangle herself from the situation with the minimum of hurt to the girl’s feelings.
There was a suggestion of her former buoyancy in Kate’s manner. Her eyes had something of their old-time sparkle as she reached inside the blousing front of her flannel shirt and laid in Mrs. Toomey’s hand a packet of crisp banknotes secured by bands of elastic.