“You none of you ever speak of him now.”
Bobbie stood first on one leg and then on the other.
“We often talk about him when we're by ourselves,” she said.
“But not to me,” said Mother. “Why?”
Bobbie did not find it easy to say why.
“I—you—” she said and stopped. She went over to the window and looked out.
“Bobbie, come here,” said her Mother, and Bobbie came.
“Now,” said Mother, putting her arm round Bobbie and laying her ruffled head against Bobbie's shoulder, “try to tell me, dear.”
Bobbie fidgeted.
“Tell Mother.”