"I have a headache," she said abruptly; "I would rather not speak."
"My dear child," exclaimed Mrs. Keith, "I hope you are not going to have influenza!"
"And I trust I am," replied Kitty, in a defiant voice. Then seeing by the astonished pause that she had said something even more outré than usual, she looked round the company and gave a ghastly smile. "I mean it," she said; "it would be such a good opportunity for Molly to nurse me."
"But you can have the horrid thing half a dozen times," said Keith. "Come, Kit, do be pleasant. It won't do you any harm, even if you have a headache, to laugh at my jokes."
"You are like all men—horridly selfish," retorted Kitty. And then she added, as if to put the final cap on her rudeness, "And your jokes are never worth laughing at. You descend to puns; could any human being sink lower? Oh, talk to Mollie, if you must talk to any one. I mean what I say—I would rather be silent."
Keith shrugged his shoulders. He was fond of Kitty, and was sorry to see her put out.
"What can be the matter?" he said to himself. He knew her well enough not to place much faith in the headache.
The rest of the dinner was a dismal failure, and when it was over Kitty retired to the back drawing-room. Nothing mattered, she said to herself; Gavon, after all, did not care for her. He was polite, civil, even affectionate, because he did not want to hurt her feelings.
Meanwhile Mrs. Keith, in the other room, was talking to Mollie.
"Gavon tells me that there is not a doubt that war will be declared immediately," she said. "There are moments when all mothers have to crush their feelings; but when it is the case of an only son it is terribly difficult. It is hard to see him go away into danger, and to feel that he may never return!"