"I know. But I've outgrown it. It's such a useless round. It doesn't get anywhere."
Martha stroked Jean's fingers. "I wouldn't do anything hasty, if I were you. Lots of things straighten out if you give them time."
Jean smiled. "You don't know Brother Pedloe, mummy; a million years wouldn't straighten out the kinks in his soul. Besides, I guess he fits well enough. It's the whole institution that's worn out—a relic of twenty years ago. I feel as if I were in prison."
"Well, don't make any change hastily. Wait until you see clearly. You want things to come so quickly, Jean, and you want them so hard."
"I know." Jean slipped from the bed and leaned over the quiet face. "But not to-night, mummy. I want nothing in the world but my own comfortable bed."
Martha looked anxiously at her. "Pat was over this afternoon, to see whether you were dead or alive. She says she doesn't suppose she'll ever see you again until the building's up."
"I don't suppose she will."
"She's so proud of the baby, Jean, and he is a dear. Don't you think you could take an hour or two and run over? She would be so pleased. Pat loves you, Jean."
"I'll try. Maybe. Good-night, dear, and don't forget to wake me. Seven and not a quarter past. You will, won't you?"
"Yes, dear. Good-night. And try not to think of work, but go straight to sleep."