“Did he make love to you?”
“Of course not! How could you think of such a thing?”
“Don’t trust any man. But he’s in love with you and you with him. Don’t deny it.”
Gita gazed over her head.
Polly turned white and beat her hands together.
“And I must take it lying down! I, who vowed I’d get him and let nothing stand in my way. I wish to God I’d killed you!” she burst out passionately, although the words ended on a sob. “I’d gladly have been hanged or electrocuted or whatever they do to you in this state. And now I can’t go at it again. I feel as limp as a young corpse inside. Can’t even try to scratch your eyes out. Am the well-brought-up Miss Pleyden once more! Well—thank God I was something else for five minutes. I’ll cherish that memory through a long and prosaic life. Poor things, we moderns. Well, I’m off.”
She hesitated, then went forward and held out her hand.
“I don’t ask you to forgive me; but we may as well be sports.”
Gita shook the cold hand. “Good-by, Polly. I’m sorry. Wish it could be wiped out. I’ll miss you.”
Miss Pleyden shrugged her shoulders. “Chapters have to end sometime. You’ve made one quite interesting for me! I’ll light a cigarette if you don’t mind.”