It was a hot, still night; the world outside seemed restless and fevered, noisy with insects, not sleeping, not tranquil. She could hear dogs barking frantically, and a strain of stupid music from the hotel, chattering voices on the veranda, sounds from other rooms.... Oh, my Andrée, how little life has to give you! Even the best of it is so poor! A profound melancholy overcame her; she could not so much as imagine a future for her child that would be happy.
The door opened softly, and Edna’s voice whispered:
“Mother!”
“Yes, dear?”
“May I come in, just for an instant?”
“Of course!”
“Andrée’s asleep.... But I was so afraid you’d be worrying, Mother darling. I knew how you must feel when you saw Mr. MacGregor.... Oh, Andrée’s such a chump! But he’s done for! I made her laugh at him, and that’s spoiled everything.”
“You dear girl! How clever and sensible of you! You really do understand Andrée wonderfully.”
Edna sighed.
“She is a worry! She’d marry anyone—she’d do anything, if she was caught in a certain mood. I hope you’ll be able to keep that old nuisance—”