Cecille had tried often to imagine what that moment was going to be like.
More than once she had dreaded that it would find her cheaply dramatic; that nervous sentiment would surprise her and break her down. Now she met it, unconcerned, without the slightest sense of shock. She had never doubted that Felicity would be anything but matter-of-fact and jaunty, right up to the end. Now it was the other girl who displayed unexpected feeling.
For Cecille had learned that morning that Perry was leaving at midnight for the South. With Felicity gone she realized how little chance there was of his ever returning again to frequent the apartment. And nothing else in the world much mattered. She was too deep sunk in misery even to try to dissemble her apathy. But Felicity had not forgotten a single night when she had waked to hear the other girl crying; she missed nothing of her present dejection.
"Well, I'm off!" This without even turning from the mirror.
Cecille failed to answer. She crossed the room and dropped heavily into a chair.
"We're catching the three-thirty this afternoon for the West."
Again silence for a while, and then a dry, strained question.
"Aren't you afraid?"
She'd made up her mind to ask at least that question. She had admitted to herself that she had to ask it. And her tone made Felicity wheel.
"Of what?" Felicity demanded, a little blank.