She leaned back in her chair, and, regarding the dumfounded Tarrell with a smile of wicked triumph, waited for him to speak, “Raggett, indeed!” she said disdainfully.
“I suppose,” said Tarrell at length, speaking very slowly, “my being stupid was no surprise to you?”
“Not a bit,” said the girl cheerfully.
“I’ll ask you to tell Raggett yourself,” said Tarrell, rising and moving towards the door. “I sha’n’t see him. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said she. “Where are you going, then?”
There was no reply.
“Where are you going?” she repeated. Then a suspicion of his purpose flashed across her. “You’re not foolish enough to be going away?” she cried in dismay.
“Why not?” said Tarrell slowly.
“Because,” said Kate, looking down—“oh, because—well, it’s ridiculous. I’d sooner have you stay here and feel what a stupid you’ve been making of yourself. I want to remind you of it sometimes.”
“I don’t want reminding,” said Tarrell, taking Raggett’s chair; “I know it now.”