She said sharply:
“Why are you sorry for me?”
“Because, my child, you have so much to learn.”
“What have I got to learn?”
“All the grown-up emotions—pity, sympathy, understanding. The only things you know—have ever known—are love and hate.”
Elsa said:
“I saw Caroline take the coniine. I thought she meant to kill herself. That would have simplified things. And then, the next morning, I found out. He told her that he didn’t care a button about me—he had cared, but it was all over. Once he’d finished the picture he’d send me packing. She’d nothing to worry about, he said.
“And she—was sorry for me…Do you understand what that did to me? I found the stuff and I gave it to him and I sat there watching him die. I’ve never felt so alive, so exultant, so full of power. I watched him die….”
She flung out her hands.
“I didn’t understand that I was killing myself—not him. Afterwards I saw her caught in a trap—and that was no good either. I couldn’t hurt her—she didn’t care—she escaped from it all—half the time she wasn’t there. She and Amyas both escaped—they went somewhere where I couldn’t get at them. But they didn’t die. I died.”
Elsa Dittisham got up. She went across to the door. She said again:
“I died….”
In the hall she passed two young people whose life together was just beginning.
The chauffeur held open the door of the car. Lady Dittisham got in and the chauffeur wrapped the fur rug round her knees.
* * *