“‘Genius will out?’ Not Madala Grey’s. She didn’t know she had any. I don’t believe she ever fully realized——Why, it was the merest chance that Eden Walls didn’t go into the fire. If it hadn’t been for me—if it hadn’t been for me——”
“Ah—you!” Miss Howe squared up to her. “Now just what (among friends) have you stood to gain? Fond of her? Oh yes, you were, Anita! Don’t tell me! But in spite of yourself, eh? But that wasn’t what you were after. You didn’t get the pleasure out of her that—I did, for instance. You used to exhaust Madala. I’ve seen you do it. You—you drained her.”
“Yes, I did. I meant to,” said Anita with her laugh. “Pleasure!”
“And she thought you were fond of her. She used to flare if anyone attacked you. Poor Madala!”
“Poor? Why? I shall give it all back.” Anita gave her a long cool look. “I—I hate debts,” said Anita.
Miss Howe flushed brightly.
“If you were cursed with the artistic temperament——” She broke off and began again. “If I were a poor devil of a Bohemian in a hole, it’s not to you I’d go——”
“—twice!” said Anita.
Again they eyed each other. Miss Howe, still flushing, chose her words.
“Madala never lent. That wasn’t in her. She gave. Time, money, love—she gave. You took, it was understood, rather than hurt her feelings by refusing. But it was always free gift.”