"There is no one about here; there is no danger of anyone overhearing us now."
"Right you are, Mary; so now I'll answer your question. Did you ask me a question by-the-bye?"
"I don't think so; but we were talking about this boy of Lord Doughton's."
"Ah, yes! to be sure, the sprig of nobility you thought was too old to die. I've heard of people being too young to die; but you seem to think that one gets a sort of prescriptive right of living, that life's like land out of which one shouldn't be turned if there have been so many years undisputed possession. Droll theory! But I see you are frowning, so I'll try to be serious. Now, what is the difference between killing a baby or a ten-year-older? The latter doesn't feel more pain in the process of being put out of the way; why should his life be considered to be of more value? Why, bless the girl! We must kill all the heirs, whatever age they may be. Of course we must kill them as babies if possible, because it is easier to get at them."
Mary had been scanning with great curiosity the woman's face as she glibly chattered on in her flippant way.
"Susan," she asked, "have you ever killed a child?"
"Yes, one," was the prompt reply, delivered in a cool matter-of-fact fashion.
"Lately."
"No, long ago; not for the cause, before I even joined the Sisterhood, or dreamed of all the theories and plots my head is now chokefull of. It was my own baby."
The two women looked at each other, the one with a hard stare of brazen effrontery, the other with an expression of terror and disgust.