“Oh, Elsie, Elsie,” wailed Mrs. Palmer, “whatever will become of us? Didn’t I always tell you——”
“Give her an arm, Mrs. Palmer, and I’ll take her on the other side, and we’ll get her into the other room. There’s a nice couch there, and she can lie down a bit.”
They half led, half dragged Elsie away, the matron exhorting her all the time with impersonal, professional brightness to pull herself together.
She was conscious of thankfulness when the woman left her alone with her mother, although leaving the door open behind her.
Mrs. Palmer instantly bent forward and asked with avidity: “What did you say to them, Elsie?”
“Let me alone, Mother, for pity’s sake!”
“How can I let you alone, as you call it, you unnatural girl? What a way to speak to your own mother, on whom you’re bringing sorrow and shame, and may bring worse yet, if you’re not careful! Now you tell me this, Elsie Williams, directly this minute: Did you or did you not tell them that you and Horace were on bad terms together?”
“I said we were quite happy together——”
“Stick to that,” said Mrs. Palmer significantly. “Did anyone know—any neighbour or anybody—that you quarrelled? He never made a row, or knocked you about, did he?”
“Only the once,” Elsie said automatically.