Josephine, curled up in a tight ball of misery, looked up from her knees to gaze out across the pond. She and Catherine had been sitting on the shore for what seemed like hours, but it had just been within the past few minutes that she had gathered the courage to talk about what had occurred between her and Traverson within the bedroom. “Have any what?” Catherine said as she absently tossed bread crumbs to the ducks that swam circles in the water, sending little ripples splashing up against the sloping embankment and wetting Josephine’s bare toes. “Pride.” Catherine looked up sharply. “He did not,” she said, her blue eyes rounding. “He did and what is worse is that he was right. I do not have any pride. You know what I have done, Catherine. You know how I have acted.” “That still does not give him the right to say such things to you,” Catherine said loyally. Tossing the last of the crumbs into the water, she ignored the flurry of wings and the frantic quacks and grasped Josephine’s arm, pulling her to her feet.
