Page:The Professor's House - Willa Cather.pdf/90

 like the inside of a white shell, were without colour. Neither of them mentioned the just-departed guest.

“Have you been out in the park, Kitty? This is a pretty little storm. Perhaps you’ll walk over to the old house with me presently.” He talked soothingly while he took off his coat and rubbers. “And now for the furs!”

Kathleen went slowly into her bedroom. She was gone a great while—perhaps ten actual minutes. When she came back, the rims of her eyes were red. She carried four large pasteboard boxes, tied together with twine. St. Peter sprang up, took the parcel, and began untying the string. He opened the first and pulled out a brown stole. “What is it, mink?”

“No, it’s Hudson Bay sable.”

“Very pretty.” He put the collar round her neck and drew back to look at it. But after a sharp struggle Kathleen broke down. She threw off the fur and buried her face in a fresh handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy, but it’s no use to-day. I don’t want any furs, really. She spoils everything for me.”

“Oh, my dear, my dear, you hurt me terribly! St. Peter put his hands tenderly on her soft hazel-coloured hair. “Face it squarely, Kitty; you must not, you cannot, be envious. It’s self-destruction.”

“I can’t help it, Father. I am envious. I don’t