"Yes," she said quickly, not meaning to lie. Then, remembering she had told him that she had won it, "No," she added in the same breath.
Jack made a quick step back to the table at which he had been writing.
"There is no manner of use in talking if you can't tell me the truth," he said. "How much money do you want, Kit?"
Kit tried to answer him, but could not. She was only conscious of a great desolating helplessness, and slowly the sobs gathered in her throat. Jack, waiting for her answer, heard a quick-taken breath, and in a moment he was by her, the best of him ready to help, if possible, forgetting everything except that Kit was in trouble.
"My poor old girl!" he said. "What is the matter? Is there something wrong, Kit? Won't you tell me? Indeed I am your friend. Don't cry so. Never mind; tell me some other time if you like. There, shall I leave you? Will you be better alone?"
Kit nodded her head, and he touched her lightly and kindly on the shoulder, and turned to go. But before he had got to the door she spoke.
"No, it is nothing, Jack," she said, controlling her voice with an effort. "I am out of sorts, I think. Never mind about the money. I can push along."
She got up from her chair and went towards the door.
"Don't worry, Jack," she said.
She went to her own room, where she knew that no one would disturb her, and shut herself in. Jack would be away all day, and till evening she would be alone. A few people were coming down with him then from town, among them Toby and his wife, Ted Comber, and several others of their set. On the whole, she was glad they were coming; it was better to be distracted than to brood over things which no brooding will mend. Above all, she wanted an interval in which Jack and she would not be alone. Perhaps after a few days he might forget or remember only vaguely the affair of this morning.