"Yes, sir," she said calmly, "I am painted by God!"
Of course this was not in Cyrus: Cyrus people knew.
"Well, Kitty!" Madam Flynt held out a large, plump white hand, amply be-ringed. She was dressed in flowing robes of green and white, a most un-negligent "negligée," and was a pleasant sight enough. "Well, Kitty! You have to come to me, you see. I couldn't go down with the rest of the town to meet you. I am glad to see you, my dear. We have been too long without you, Kitty."
"Dear Madam Flynt, I am so glad to get home! How is the rheumatism?"
"The rheumatism is very well, Kitty, it thanks you: it's more vigorous than I am; but I do very well, on the whole, very well. I get my airing, which is the principal thing. John Tucker told you of our little arrangement? A very good plan! John Tucker is a sensible man. He and Sarepta are really an able pair. Pity he didn't marry her, instead of that poor creature, Mary Spinney. You had a good voyage, my dear?"
She talked easily, Kitty following her lead.
"Glad to hear it! And now, Kitty, I hope you are going to be a sensible girl, and do as I wish."
"As you wish, Madam Flynt? About the driving? Oh, surely! I am only too grateful. It is so dear of you—"
"Nothing of the kind! A business arrangement, nothing more. Flanagan was dead—I didn't kill him, did I? What I wish, Kitty, is quite another thing. I want you to come and live with me."
"Oh, Madam Flynt!"