So the ladies lunched together. Although Miss Broad declared that she could not swallow a morsel, Miss Bewicke induced her to dispose of several. Indeed, she handled her with so much skill that by the time the meal was through--it was not a long one--one would have thought that they really were on decent terms with one another, though Miss Broad was still a trifle scratchy. But then her nerves were out of order, and when a lady's nerves are out of order, she is apt, occasionally, to stray from those well-defined paths which etiquette and good breeding require her to tread; in short, she does not know what she is doing, or what anybody else is doing either, which Miss Bewicke quite understood, so that her guest's eccentricities, apparently, simply amused her.
And the two young ladies went up together in the same compartment to London to look for Mr Holland, and to call down, if necessary, vengeance on his enemies and those who had despitefully used him.
CHAPTER XIII
[VISITORS FOR MISS CASATA]
Miss Casata had a razor in her hand--an open razor. She examined its edge.
'It is very sharp. Oh, yes, how sharp! One cut; it will all be over. Will it be over with one cut--that is it--or shall I have to hack, and hack, and hack? That would not be agreeable.'
She stood in front of a looking-glass, regarding her own reflection.
'I am not bad looking; no, I am not. I have a certain attractiveness, which is my own. To use the razor would be to make a mess. I should be a horrible sight. Would he care? He would not see me. If he did, he would laugh, I know. He has what he calls a taste for the horrible. It would amuse him to behold me all covered with blood.'
She turned her attention to some articles which were on a table.
'Here is a revolver. The six barrels are all loaded. It would not need them all to blow out my brains--that is, if I have any to blow. Here is a bottle of hydrocyanic acid. What lies I had to tell to get it; what tricks I had to play! There is enough in this little bottle to kill the whole street. I have, therefore, the keys of death close to my hand--painless, instant death. Three roads to eternal sleep, and I stand so much in need of rest. Yet I hesitate to use them. It is very funny. Is it because I am going mad--I did not use to be infirm of purpose--I wonder?'