The artist's face hardened. "You were sent here to find that out. Well, then, I am."
"I'm glad," said Pat simply and sincerely.
The older woman took off her glasses, rose, walked across to the lounge where Pat was seated and set her delicate hands on the girl's shoulders, staring into her face with an inscrutable expression. "Why do you say that?"
"Because it's true. I'm crazy about you—already."
The other sat down limply. "What kind of a person are you?"
"An honest one."
"Then I'll be, too. I'm not going to marry Ralph. I can't. I've got a husband. He's no good. I haven't lived with him for years. I had a devil of a life. I was going to kill myself when I met Ralph."
"Were you so poor?" asked Pat sympathetically.
"Poor? Do you think it was a question of money with me that took me to Ralph?" retorted the other with slow anger.
"No. I don't know why I said that. But you're so young."