"And with your permission, Randall, I'm going to use your car now to take me home," chipped in Miss Kiametia.
"Oh, Kiametia, you must not go," protested Mrs. Whitney. "You are such a comfort—such a help…."
"Don't go," added Kathleen. "Your presence makes my enforced idleness here easier to bear."
"Thank you, my dears." The spinster looked immensely pleased. "Of course
I'll stay, if you really feel you want me."
"I am the only one bereft," said Foster wistfully. "I cannot call upon you tonight, Kiametia."
"Of course you can," exclaimed Mrs. Whitney, smiling faintly. "We are not so selfish as to keep Kiametia to ourselves all the time. If you will excuse me, I must go back to Winslow."
"Certainly." Foster rose and opened the door for her. "I must not stop longer. Good night, Miss Kathleen, I hope that you will feel better in the morning."
"Thanks; please come here just a moment," and reluctantly Foster
approached the bed. He did not wish to resume discussion about
Spencer's will. "Tell me," Kathleen lowered her voice, "when will the
Grand Jury meet?"
"Not for ten days or more."
"That is all, thanks," and Foster moved away. At the door he signaled to
Miss Kiametia to step into the hall with him, and after a quick glance at
Kathleen's averted face, the spinster followed him, softly closing the
door behind her.