"We're always asking favours."
"Pooh! He likes them and I don't mind asking."
"Well, then, it would be rather a relief. I don't know what to do with her."
The sense of responsibility towards George which had once kept Miriam awake had also kept her from him in a great effort of self-denial, and it was many days since she had done more than wave a greeting or give him a few light words.
"I believe I've offended you," he had told her not long ago, but she assured him that it was not so.
"Then I can't make you out," he muttered.
She shut her eyes and showed him her long lashes. "No, I'm a mystery. Think about me, George." And before he had time to utter his genuine, clumsy speech, she ran away.
"But I can't avoid temptation much longer," she told herself. "Life's too dull."
And now this illness which alarmed her was like a door opening slowly.
"And it's the hand of God that left it ajar," she said as she sped across the moor.