Besides, Charity found it hard to assume that a woman who held
her good name cheap would hold her good self less cheap, since
reputation is usually cherished longer than character.
In any case, Charity was smothering. Even Mrs. Noxon's vast
drawing-room was too small to hold her and Jim and Kedzie and
Strathdene. America was too strait to accommodate that jangling
quartet.
She rose abruptly, thrust her hand out to Jim and said:
"Good night, old man. I've got to begin packing."
"Packing for where? New York?"
"Yes, and then France."
"I've told you before, I won't let you go."
And then it came over him that he had no right even to be dejected
and alarmed at Charity's departure. Charity felt in the sudden
relaxing of his handclasp some such sudden check. She smiled
patiently and went to tell Kedzie good night.
Kedzie broke out, "Oh, don't go--yet!" then caught herself. She also
for quite a different reason must not regret Charity's departure.
Charity smiled a smile of terrifying comprehension, shook her head,
and went her ways.
And now Jim, released, wandered over and sat down by Kedzie just
as she was telling Strathdene the most important things.
She could not shake Jim. He would not talk to anybody else. She
wished that Charity had taken Jim with her. Strathdene was as
comfortable as a spy while Jim talked. Jim seemed so suspiciously
amiable that Strathdene wondered how much he knew.
Jim did not look like the sort of man who would know and be
complacent, but even if he were ignorant Strathdene was too
outright a creature to relish the necessity for casual chatter
with the husband of his sweetheart.
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