The strange emotions and events of the past night had left the girl numb. The ecstasy of hatred which had possessed her for that other woman, the birth-pains her heart had suffered, the anguish of humiliation and defeat had all passed. She felt nothing. She thought of nothing. Only sometimes as she lay there staring at Monna Lisa on the wall, she had the fancy that she was a little wrecked boat, lying broken and useless on a beach where of late had raged a cruel storm.
In the torrid afternoon hours she slept a while—dead, dreamless sleep, that revived her into at least some mechanical resemblance of herself; so that when Kykie once more pounded upon her door and demanded admittance with a tea-tray, she arose and let the anxious flustered creature in.
"For goodness' gracious, and what do you look like, Poppy!"
"Kykie, stop asking questions, or go!" was the answer given so fiercely that the old woman thought it wiser to say no more on the subject. She inveigled Poppy to sit down and take some tea and some delicately prepared sandwiches; in the meantime, she unfolded the tale of her woes to the girl's unhearing ears. Luce had beaten her best kitchen boy, and he had run away, so that she had been obliged to do all his work as well as her own. Every dish at luncheon time had been sent out untasted, and nothing eaten but bread and cheese—a terrible insult to poor Kykie!
"And he's been prowling round the house like a lion all the afternoon, wanting to know what's the matter with you. Promise to come down to dinner, Poppy, or in the name of gracious me I don't know what I shall do."
"I'll come down, Kykie," said Poppy dully. "What is all the trouble about?"
"Just because the front gate was left unlocked all the time he was away. Of course, we little knew that it was open. But he said that I or the boys ought to have found out and looked for the key in his room and locked it. Me! Me that is on my weary feet in that kitchen all day thinking of his stomach—heavenly me! Take some more tea, my poor child; you look like a spook."
"No, I have had enough, Kykie. Go away now, and see about your dinner. I'll be down."
"Let me brush your hair first; you know you always like me to when you feel bad." The old woman took up Poppy's hair-brushes and approached the long ruffled plaits of hair; but the moment she touched them the girl sprang away from her like a white flame.
"No, no, Kykie; never dare touch my hair again!" she cried violently.