And again Miss Prince shrank back a little. This was an Agatha Cheale she did not know—a violent, unrestrained human being, laying her soul bare as few human beings ever have the cruel courage to do.
“I hope you got poor Emily’s legacy all right?”
“Yes, I got it almost at once. It enabled me to send my brother abroad.”
“How is he?” asked Miss Prince.
“I don’t know, he never writes to me, unless he wants money,” she said bitterly. “I’ve only cared for two people in my life—my brother and Harry Garlett—and neither of them have cared for me.”
She got up. “I must be going back! The driver of the car I hired at Dill Junction had a friend in Grendon. I said he could go there for an hour. I was afraid he might go into the village, and cause gossip. I think I heard the car come up just now.”
“I wonder if I ought to let you go away?” said Miss Prince hesitatingly. “You don’t look fit to go back to London to-day, my dear.”
“I couldn’t stay here. If I did I should get into serious trouble for not having appeared at the Police Court to-day.”
She turned and put her arms around Miss Prince’s angular neck. “Good-bye, Mary. You’re a good friend,” she exclaimed. “Forget all I’ve said to-day!”
“I will,” said Miss Prince soberly, “indeed I will, Agatha. I don’t feel as if you are really yourself, my dear.”