"
"Does Mummy want you?"
"Whether she wants me or not, she's got to have me."
"For how long?"
(Mary's face was heavy with thought now.)
"I don't know. I'm going to get something to do."
"To _do?_"
(Mary said to herself, then certainly it was not amusing. She pondered
it.)
"Is it," she brought out, "because of Steven Rowcliffe?"
"No. It's because of Ally."
"Ally?"
"Yes. Didn't Papa tell you about her?"
"Not he. Did he tell you?"
"No. It was Steven Rowcliffe."
And she told Mary what Rowcliffe had said to her.
She had made room for her on her trunk and they sat there, their
bodies touching, their heads drawn back, each sister staring with eyes
that gave and took the other's horror.
* * * * *
"Don't, Molly, don't----"
Mary was crying now.
"Does Papa know--that she'll die--or go mad?"
"Yes."
"But"--Mary lifted her stained face--"that's what they said about
Mother."
"If she had children. It's if Ally hasn't any."
"And Papa knew it _then_. And he knows it now--how awful."
"It isn't as awful as Steven Rowcliffe thinks. He doesn't really know
what's wrong with her. He doesn't know she's in love with _him_."
"Poor Ally. What's the good? He isn't in love with her."
"He isn't now," said Gwenda. "But he will be."
"Not he. It's you he cares for--if he cares for anybody."
"I know. That's why I'm going."
"Oh, Gwenda----"
Mary's face was somber as she took it in.
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