Page:Restless Earth.djvu/179

“Well?” she asked, with something of defiance in her voice.

Buzzy looked at her with a pitying smile.

“I’m on your side, Pat,” she answered simply. “You play the game, old thing———”

“But I haven’t played it, Buzzy!” cried Patricia. beating her clenched hands upon the table softly, passionately. “I haven’t played it! Oh, I've been—rotten, Buzzy! Rotten!”

“I don’t quite see that———”

“The other woman was my friend. Is that playing the game? I tried to play it, Buzzy; before God, I did! But, I couldn’t! I couldn’t! At first—yes; but later———! Oh, why didn’t I have the sense to stay away?”

“Quiet, my dear!” urged Buzzy, conscious of the curious glances directed at them by the other occupants of the room. “Don’t say any more about it. The damage is done———”

“Grace—little Grace Harley—she was the other woman, Buzzy,” continued Patricia unheeding, her words flowing in an impetuous torrent. “You remember her, Buzzy?”

“Harley? Harley? No—the name isn’t familiar———”

“Little Grace Devine, Buzzy! Married to Harley, the author. I met her again in New Plymouth—she invited me to her home—and then———”

Patricia made a fatalistic gesture, and became silent, pulling on her gloves with nervous jerks. Buzzy was silent for so long that Patricia needed all her courage to look up at her.

The big woman was frowning at the tea-pot in curious concentration. Her lips were pursed; her wide-spread fingers gently drummed upon the table; her whole rigid attitude was expressive of intense mental activity induced by an emotional shock.

“James Harley?” she asked suddenly, directing her frown at Patricia as she barked the question. “The fellow who writes such awful mush?”