The forehead thus suddenly exposed betrayed at the temples a wasted look, with the blue veins conspicuous on the white. "I knew it!" said Garda. She sat down beside her friend, and kissed her with angry tenderness. "What is the matter with you?" she demanded, putting her arms round her and giving her a little shake. "You shall tell me. What is the matter?"
"A very natural thing; I am growing old, that is all." And Margaret tried to rearrange the disordered hair.
"Leave it as it is, I am determined to see the worst of you this time. You—with all that pretty hair and your pretty dresses—you have managed to conceal it." And again with searching eyes she examined her friend. "You don't care at all!" she announced.
"Oh yes, I do," said Margaret.
"You don't care in the least. But I care; and something shall be done. They have worn you out between them—two invalids; I shall speak to Mr. Harold."
Margaret's face altered. "No, Garda, you must not do that."
"But he likes me," said Garda, insistently; "he will say yes to anything I ask—you will see if he doesn't."
And Margaret felt, like a wave, the conviction that he would; more than this, that he would always have said yes if Garda had been the wife instead of herself. Garda would never have been submissive, Garda would never have yielded. But to Garda he would always have said yes.
"I shall certainly speak to him," Garda persisted. "Why shouldn't I not mind what you say, if it is for your good?'
"It would not be for my good."