“I wish,” said Mrs. Fazackerly gently, “that I knew what to do.”
“When a woman says that, it generally means that her mind is made up.”
Nancy laughed, but she said, “Mine isn’t.”
I suppose that if one of the Kendals had been there she would immediately have inquired, “Has he asked you yet?” I have not, however, been brought up by Mumma, and so these unflinching methods are beyond me. Moreover, I did not imagine for a minute that Nancy really wanted advice, any more than anybody else ever wants it. She only needed someone to whom she could talk more or less freely.
“You know that my dear father is sometimes a little—peculiar,” she began in a hesitating way.
“I know—and you know—” said I, “that he treats you disgracefully. Yes. Let’s come to the point, my dear.”
“Can you imagine that he would ever tolerate the idea of my leaving him again?”
“If you mean, do I think that he would take it lying down, no, I don’t. But in your place, I shouldn’t allow him a word in the matter.”
“You are always so brave,” she said wistfully.
“And you are always so cowardly.”