Jean, more than ever afraid of this woman, had a sudden sense of something tragic in the fact of Hilda's homelessness.
"I don't quite see what you mean," she said, slowly.
"You couldn't see," Hilda told her, "and you will never see. Women like you don't."
"We didn't get on very well together," Jean said, almost timidly, "but that was because we were different."
"It wasn't because we were different that we didn't get on," Hilda said. "It was because you were afraid of me. You knew your father liked me."
With her usual frankness she spoke the truth as she saw it.
"I was not afraid," Jean faltered.
"You were. But we needn't talk about that. I am going to France."
"When?"
"As soon as I can get there. That's why I came here. To take away some things I wanted."