I only do it because it's for her good as much as
yours. Things oughtn't to drag on, you know; it isn't fair to a girl
like that."
Kite thrust his hands into his pockets, and drew himself up to a
full five feet eleven.
"I'll go away," he said. "I'll go and live in Paris for a bit."
"That's for _you_ to decide. Of course if you feel like that--it's
none of my business, I don't pretend to understand _you_; I'm not
quite sure I understand _her_. You're a queer couple. All I know is,
it's gone on long enough, and it isn't fair to a girl like Olga. She
isn't the sort that can doze through a comfortable engagement of ten
or twelve years, and surely you know that."
"I'll go away," said Kite again, nodding resolutely.
He turned again to the poster, and Miss Bonnicastle resumed her
work. Thus Olga found them when she came back.
"I've asked him to come at three," she said. "You'll be out then,
Bonnie. When you come in we'll put the kettle on, and all have tea."
She chanted it, to the old nursery tune. "Of course you'll come as
well"--she addressed Kite--"say about four. It'll be jolly!"
So, on the following afternoon, Olga sat alone, in readiness for her
visitor. She had paid a little more attention than usual to her
appearance, but was perfectly self-possessed; a meeting with Piers
Otway had never yet quickened her pulse, and would not do so to-day.
If anything, she suffered a little from low spirits, conscious of
having played a rather disingenuous part before Kite, and not
exactly knowing to what purpose she had done so.
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