"I mind your making yourself so very conspicuous."
"I don't make myself conspicuous. I was born so."
"You make me conspicuous. Goodness knows what all these people take us for!"
"Holy Innocent! As long as you sit tight and do your hair like that, nobody could take you for anything but a dear little bunny with its ears laid back. But if you get palpitations in your little nose, and turn up your little white tail at people, and scuttle away when they look at you, you can't blame them if they wonder what's the matter with you."
"With me?"
"Yes; it's you who give the show away." Kitty smiled into her liqueur glass. "It doesn't seem to strike you that your behaviour compromises me."
Miss Keating's mouth twitched. Her narrow, rather prominent front teeth lifted an instant, and then closed sharply on her lower lip. Her throat trembled as if she were swallowing some bitter thing that had been on the tip of her tongue.
"If you think that," she said, and her voice crowed no longer, "wouldn't it be better for us not to be together?"
Kitty shook her meditative head. "Poor Bunny," said she, "why can't you be honest? Why don't you say plump out that you're sick and tired of me? I should be. I couldn't stand another woman lugging me about as I lug you."
"It isn't that. Only—everywhere we go—there's always some horrible man."