'But who will marry you after you are thirty-eight?' said poor Miss Browne, unable to keep any ache back to-night.
'Oh,' said Challis, 'lots of people don't get married, and they are as happy as anything.'
Miss Browne's lip quivered.
'If I had been asked,' she said, 'then I should not mind so much. But I am—thirty-eight, and no one has—ever asked me.'
Challis put her arm round the poor woman's neck; she stroked her cheek, patted her shoulder.
'Of course,' Miss Browne said at last, sitting up with tremulous, red-eyed dignity, 'there is no need to tell Hermie that, my love.'
'But you must have lots of friends,' said Challis, looking at the number of envelopes lying on the dressing-table. The colour ran up into Miss Browne's face. She half put her hand over the letters, then drew it back.
'If I told you about these, you would think me so foolish, my dear,' she faltered.
'Oh no, I wouldn't!' said Challis. 'Now I know you so well, I seem to understand everything.'
Miss Browne got some little papers out of a drawer, English penny weeklies devoted to 'ladies' interests.' She turned to the Answers to Correspondents pages, 'Advice on Courtship and Marriage.'