The room was in disorder. Clothes littered the bed. More clothes were heaped on the floor around an open trunk. Miss Keating was kneeling on the floor seizing on things and thrusting them into the trunk. Their strangled, tortured forms witnessed to the violence of her mood.
"What are you doing?"
"You can see what I'm doing. I am packing my things."
"Why?"
"Because I am going away."
"Have you had bad news? Is—is anybody dead?"
"I wouldn't ask any questions if I were you."
"I must ask some. You know, people don't walk off like this without giving any reason."
"I am surprised at your asking for my reason."
"Sur—prised," said Kitty softly. "Are you going because of me?"