“I see; you imagine yourself capable of sacrifice. Well, you have your chance. Take it!” She pointed to the corded trunk. “Now's your time; you have only to disappear!”
The little model shrank back against the windowsill. “He wants me!” she muttered. “I know he wants me.”
Bianca bit her lips till the blood came.
“Your idea of sacrifice,” she said, “is perfect! If you went now, in a month's time he'd never think of you again.”
The girl gulped. There was something so pitiful in the movements of her hands that Bianca turned away. She stood for several seconds staring at the door, then, turning round again, said:
“Well?”
But the girl's whole face had changed. All tear-stained, indeed, she had already masked it with a sort of immovable stolidity.
Bianca went swiftly up to the trunk.
“You shall!” she said. “Take that thing and go.”
The little model did not move.