Lyon glanced hesitatingly at Miss Wolcott, but that young woman was regarding the volcanic schoolgirl with surprise and with no special warmth of emotion.
"That's what she says," said Lyon, with a whimsical appeal. "If she persists, I suppose I must write--or someone must--to her uncle in Columbus, and explain why she refuses, and assure him that she is safe with friends until he can arrange for her."
"I won't go back to Uncle Joe," said Kittie, sitting up suddenly. "Do you think I could go to them and explain that I had--had killed anybody? Why, they would think I was crazy. They would look at me so. I won't go to anybody that knows me."
Lyon looked distressed. Miss Wolcott looked annoyed and perplexed. Mrs. Broughton looked at her husband,--a long glance, at least three sentences long,--and then she said quietly,
"Would you like to come to New York and stay with me for the rest of the winter, Kittie?"
"Would I?" gasped Kittie.
"Do you think your uncle and aunt would consent to your coming to pay me a visit?"
"They'd have to," said Kittie, calmly.
Mrs. Broughton laughed.
"We'll see what we can do by way of persuasion first. We'll go by way of Columbus when we go on, and explain our plans. I can't spare my little nurse yet. In fact, I think I must have you come with me for a while to the Metropole, while we have to stay in Waynscott. That may be--" she glanced inquiringly at Lyon--"a few days? Or a week?"