Why--why
should we speak at all? I'm going away." And she turned with a gesture
of farewell.
Alice Wensleydale laid a detaining hand on Kitty's arm.
"No! stay a moment. You are in black. You look ill."
Kitty turned towards her. They had moved on instinctively into the
shelter of one of the narrow streets.
"My boy died--two months ago," she said, holding herself proudly aloof.
Lady Alice started.
"I hadn't heard. I'm very sorry for you. How old was he?"
"Three years old."
"Poor baby!" The words were very low and soft. "My boy--was fourteen.
But you have other children?"
"No--and I don't want them. They might die, too."
Lady Alice paused. She still held her half-sister by the arm, towering
above her. She was quite as thin as Kitty, but much taller and more
largely built; and, beside the elaborate elegance of Kitty's mourning,
Alice's black veil and dress had a severe, conventual air. They were
almost the dress of a religious.
"How are you?" she said, gently. "I often think of you. Are you happy in
your marriage?"
Kitty laughed.
"We're such a happy lot, aren't we? We understand it so well.
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