“She needn’t have been lonely. She refused to come and live at Herne Hill, and now of course I understand why. Mrs. Conisbee must have known about it, and it was her duty to tell me. Mr. Widdowson had found out somehow, I feel sure.”
She explained the reason of this belief.
“You know what it all points to,” said Miss Madden, drying her sallow, pimpled cheeks. “You must do as your husband wishes, dearest. We must go to Clevedon. There the poor girl will be out of temptation.”
“You and Virgie may go.”
“You too, Monica. My dear sister, it is your duty.”
“Don’t use that word to me!” exclaimed the other angrily. “It is not my duty. It can be no woman’s duty to live with a man she hates—or even to make a pretence of living with him.”
“But, dearest—”
“You mustn’t begin this to-night, Alice. I have been ill all day, and now my head is aching terribly. Go downstairs and eat the supper they have laid for you.”
“I couldn’t touch a morsel,” sobbed Miss Madden. “Oh, everything is too dreadful! Life is too hard!”
Monica had returned to bed, and lay there with her face half hidden against the pillow.