She could not escape from the trouble itself. It had to be endured. But was it to be a sorrow taken sullenly and despairingly, taken only because it could not be avoided? Or should it be a test met bravely, an unselfish action embraced, a victory won in the face of odds? Was she going to think only of herself, and of what she had lost? Or would she do her utmost for the happiness of her sister and her friend?
The choice had to be made quickly. Ned was speaking still; but he would soon pause, and then she must say something. What should she—what could she say? And with the sense of helplessness, a passionate appeal went up for help; such an appeal, such a prayer, as never can be made in vain. A sudden calm came.
The pause occurred; and she heard herself saying—
"I'll do what I can for you."
"If you could just make her understand that it is all a mistake—that she never can be in the way—in anybody's way."
"Why don't you speak out yourself?"
"I'm afraid to risk it too soon. I did try a word or two this afternoon; and she simply would not listen. She seems to think it is disloyal to you. I shall be in Burwood now for a fortnight; and I want a clear field. You see?"
Magda did see. "I'll do my best," she repeated.
They were close to a little summer-house. Ned halted.
"I don't want to lose to-day," he said. "Magda—could you—wait here, and let me send her to you? I know where she is."