She felt that Mrs. Ames was waiting for something more, and she knew exactly what it was. But it required a greater effort to speak of that than she could at once command. At last she raised her eyes to those of Mrs. Ames.
“No, never,” she said.
Mrs. Ames nodded.
“I see,” she said baldly. “Now, as I said, we have got to be patient and ordinary. We have got, you and I, to begin again. You have your husband, so have I. Men are so easily pleased and made happy. It would be a shame if we failed.”
Again the helpless, puzzled look came over Millie’s face.
“But I don’t see how to begin,” she said. “To-morrow, for instance, what am I to do all to-morrow? I shall only be thinking of what might have happened.”
Mrs. Ames took up her soft, unresisting, unresponsive hand.
“Yes, by all means, think what might have happened,” she said. “Utter ruin, utter misery, and—and all your fault. You led him on, as you said. He didn’t care as you did. He wouldn’t have thought of going away with you, if he hadn’t been so furious with me. Think of all that.”
Some straggler from that host of sobs shook Millie for a moment.
“Perhaps Wilfred would take me away instead,” she said. “I will ask him if he cannot. Do you think I should feel better if I went away for a fortnight, Cousin Amy?”