"Till late last night."
"And you look as if you hadn't slept all night, neither," says mother. "Sit down, and Kitty shall make you a cup of tea. You must have had breakfast early."
"I didn't have any breakfast," Mary said, with a sort of smile. "Nor any sleep, either."
"None at all!" says mother.
"I didn't go to bed. I had a lot to think about."
"If I was you, I'd have thought about it lying down," says mother. "That wasn't like your wisdom, Mary."
"Maybe not," Mary said, with a strange look. "But I've got to tell you—"
"You've got to tell me nothing till you've had some breakfast," says mother, making Mary take a seat. "There's boiling water all ready, and Kitty shall see to the tea sharp. Cut some bread and butter too, Kitty. No, I won't have you talk, Mary, till you've taken something. It isn't long to wait."
It mightn't be long to mother, but it was long to me. I wondered so, what could Mary be going to say? Was it about her brother? Had something happened to him? I didn't know how to bear the putting off, and I hurried all I could with the tea and bread and butter, so as I might hear the sooner.
Mary sat still, looking from mother to me. There was a pitying look in her eyes that I couldn't make out.