'Oh yes, lots have said so—things come back to me. Julia always was jealous of me. She cannot bear me to speak to you. Have you not noticed how she follows us? Do you think she would have left the room just now if she could have helped it?'
'If you think this is so, had she not better leave?'
Emily did not answer at once. Motionless she lay on the sofa, looking at the grey November day with vague eyes that bespoke an obsession of hallucination. Suddenly she said, 'I do not want her to go away. She would spread a report that I was jealous of her, and had asked you to send her away. No; it would not be wise to send her away. Besides,' she said, fixing her eyes, now full of melancholy reproach, 'you would like her to remain.'
'I have said before, Emily, and I assure you I am speaking the truth, I want you to do what you like. Say what you wish to be done, and it shall be done.'
'Is that really true? I thought no one cared for me. You must care for me a little to speak like that.'
'Of course I care for you, Emily.'
'I sometimes think you might have if it had not been for that play; for, of course, I'm not clever, and cannot discuss it with you.... Julia, I suppose, can—that is the reason why you like her. Am I not right?'
'Mrs. Bentley is a clever woman, who has read a great deal, and I like to talk an act over with her before I write it.'
'Is that all? Then why do people say you are going to marry her?'
'But nobody ever said so.'