‘She was crying a good deal and thoroughly upset and I heard her say your name. So I went and asked someone where your room was and came straight. But you were out.’
‘Did she tell you to come?’
‘She didn’t tell me not to.’
‘Then she told you where my room was. She knows you’re here.’
‘I didn’t ask her where your room was. I—found out.’
‘And does she know you’re here?’
‘No.’ She added after a silence. ‘I didn’t come here to be cross-questioned.’
‘What did you come here for?’
‘Just to tell you we care that’—she snapped her fingers—‘for your mean little jealousies.’
‘Oh, it seems scarcely worth coming, just for that. It wasn’t worth losing your temper over, was it? Little jealousies are so common—in a female institution. I do think you over-estimate their importance. It isn’t as if you cared what we said, because you’ve just told me you don’t—either of you.’