She was like a weak child--unable
to bear the thought of anything hostile and unkind.
If he had already turned homeward? Perhaps he would come through Venice!
Anyway, he was not far off. The day before she and Margaret had made
their first visit to the Lido. And as Kitty stood fronting the Adriatic
waves, she had dreamed that somewhere, beyond the farther coast, were
those Bosnian mountains in which Geoffrey had passed the winter.
Then she started at her own thoughts, rose--loathing herself--drew down
her veil, and moved towards the door.
* * * * *
As she reached the leathern curtain which hung over the doorway, a lady
in front who was passing through held the curtain aside that Kitty might
follow. Kitty stepped into the street and looked up to say a mechanical
"Thank you."
But the word died on her lips. She gave a stifled cry, which was echoed
by the woman before her.
Both stood motionless, staring at each other.
Kitty recovered herself first.
"It's not my fault that we've met," she said, panting a little. "Don't
look at me so--so unkindly. I know you don't want to see me.
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