"You will."
"No. An hour and a half—two hours at the utmost."
"Oh, I understand," said Miss Crawford. "You will never come back."
"Never come back? I will promise you, if you like, that I will be here again by half-past two—that is, if I go now."
"Oh, of course I can't keep you: if you will go, you will. But I think it is very cruel of you. You will leave me to face Mr. Nash alone."
"Indeed I will not," the girl replied.
"And, after all, it is not half so bad for you as for me. He can't blame you. It will kill me, I think, but he can't say anything to you. Oh, Judith, I'm only a stupid old woman, but I have meant to be kind to you."
"No one could have been kinder," said Judith. "Miss Crawford, whatever happens, believe me I am grateful."
"Then you will stop—you will stop? He can't say anything to you, my dear."
Judith was cold with terror at the thought of what Mr. Nash might have to say to her. At the same moment she was burning with anxiety to get to Bellevue street and find some letter from Bertie. She freed her hands gently, but firmly. Miss Crawford sank back in mute despair, as if she had received her death-wound.