There was an instant's silence. Then Gertrude laid a skeleton hand upon the girl's hand—gripping it painfully.
"And do you suppose—that anything Mr. Lathrop could say, or you could say, could prevent my carrying out plans that seemed to me necessary—in this war!"
Delia gasped.
"Gertrude!—you mean to do it!"
Gertrude released her—almost threw her hand away.
"I have told you why you are a fool to think so. But if you do think so, go and tell Mr. Winnington! Tell him everything!—make him enquire. I shall be in town—ready for the warrant."
The two faced each other.
"And now," said Gertrude—"though I am convalescent—we have had enough of this." She rose tottering—and felt for her stick. Delia gave it her.
"Gertrude!" It was a bitter cry of crushed affection and wounded trust. It arrested Gertrude for a moment on her way to the door. She turned in indecision—then shook her head—muttered something inarticulate, and went.
* * * * *