"Why did you, Molly? It was a mistake."

"I wonder--Well, it was all my fault."

"No; it was Stanistreet's. He knew what he was about."

"It was mine. I liked him."

"What did you see to like in him?" (He really had some curiosity on that

point.) "I liked him because he was your friend--the best friend you ever had.

I hated the other men that used to come. And when you were away I felt

somehow as if--as if--he was all that was left of you. But that was

afterwards. I think I liked him first of all because he liked you."

"How do you know it was me he liked?"

"Oh, it was; I know. Whatever other people thought, he always

understood. Do you see? We used to talk about you, every day I think,

till just the last--and then, he knew what I was thinking. Then he was

sorry when baby died. I can never forget that."

(Inconceivable! Had she never for an instant understood? Ah, well, if

he had been so transfigured in her sight, she might well idealize

Stanistreet.) She went on impetuously, with inextricable confusion of persons and

events. "Nevill--I wasn't kind to him. They said I didn't care--and

I did--I did! It nearly broke my heart. Only I was afraid you'd think I

loved him better than you, and so--I didn't take any notice of him. I

thought he wouldn't mind--he was so little, you see; and then I thought

some day I could tell him. Oh, Nevill--do you think he minded?"

He bowed his head. He had not a word to say. He was trying to realize

this thing. To keep his worthless love, she had given up everything, even

to the supreme sacrifice of her motherhood.

Her fingers clutched the counterpane, working feverishly. She had had

something else to say. But she was afraid to say it, to speak of that

unspeakable new thing, her hidden hope of motherhood. He covered her

hands with his to keep them still.

"You see it was all right, as it happened."

"Yes--as it happened. But I think it was a little hard on poor old

Stanistreet."

"Sometimes I wonder if it was fair. He used to say things; but I didn't

take them in at the time. I didn't understand; and somehow now, I feel as

if it had never happened. Perhaps it wasn't quite fair--but then I didn't

think. I wonder why he's never been to see me."

"Can't say, Molly."

"He must have seen the fire in the papers--I hope he didn't think what

you did. I mean--think--"

"What?"

"Think that I cared."

"Don't, Molly, for God's sake! I never thought it. I was in an infernal

bad temper, that was all."

"So that hasn't made any difference?"




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