“But—but—how could I? Mother would never get over it. Mother’s terrified of Mrs. Gedge. I couldn’t——”
“Oh, well then——”
Laura dropped the subject indifferently.
They sat awhile in silence.
Annabel fidgeted. Her restless eyes wandered round the room.
“I ought to be going. The rain’s stopped,” she volunteered at last.
“Oh—must you?” Laura rose courteously.
“Laura—” Annabel stooped to pick up the disgruntled tabby stretching itself indignantly on the hearth-rug—“Laura—if I did—Laura—do you honestly think it would be right?”
“Right?” The flames had found Laura’s face at last, lighting up, laying bare its weakness and its strength, soft eyes and tender mouth and the new hard lines about eyes and mouth alike. “Right? You’re a woman, aren’t you? You’ve a man fighting for you? You give what you can and take what you can—while you’ve the chance! Right?” Her voice deepened. “It’s your own two lives! Don’t you let them rob you—even if they are your own people. They talk about prudence and marry in haste—and tell you to wait—and wait—and wait! It would be devilish the way they talk, if they understood. But of course—they can’t. They’re old. They’ve forgotten. They mean well. But you—you take your chance!”
“But—but—” began Annabel helplessly.