"By rights I ought to stay until you come back, whenever you have the cheek to, and tell you what I think of you—I saw B. E. this evening and he told me all about it—but I want never to see you again—the rent's paid up till next Wednesday—then you can stick or get out—I don't care which—and I wish you joy of your bargain!—H. M."
"You've been scrapping with Hattie, eh?" Joan heard Fowey say in an amused voice.
Without answering, she let the sheet of paper fall to the table, and stood with head bowed in thought, suffering acutely the humiliation inspired by Hattie's contemptuous dismissal.
"What was the trouble?" Fowey pursued. "Not that I'm sorry—"
"Oh, nothing much," Joan interrupted. "We just had a difference of opinion, and she had to fly off the handle like this. It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," Fowey announced significantly.
Now Joan looked up, for the first time appreciating her position.
"Oh ..." she said blankly.
Fowey was advancing, with extended arms. She raised a hand to fend him off.
"Don't!" she begged. "Please don't. I can't.... You must go, now—of course. I'm sorry. Good night."