Her mother said nothing at all, but to herself she thought:
"Why not? It would be the best and the quickest for both of us. If you don’t—oh, what’s ahead of us, and how ever can we go through with it?"
Angelica searched her mother’s face, but in vain; it was impassive.
"What else can I do?" she cried.
"There’s always something that can be done," said her mother. "We’ll try and think, deary."
"Mommer!"
"Yes, my deary?"
"Do you feel—different to me?"
"No, Angelica, nor ever shall!"
But she did. Strong in the simple soul was the old worship of the virgin. Angelica had been before a mystic and holy thing. She was now no more than a woman, like herself; and a woman is no fit object for worship.