"Martha, I've been so catty."
"Yes, you have," said Mrs. Horne stoutly.
"Well, you needn't tell me like that. I'm sure there was nothing to make all this—"
"Don't let's go over all that again, Judy. Why did you do it? That's what I want to know. The whole thing was ridiculous."
"Because I did—that's why. And one has to have some amusement out here."
"Well! that is nice."
"You know I didn't mean it that way, Martha."
There was silence, so long that Mrs. Horne thought her friend must be sleeping. Gradually she became aware that she was crying.
"Judy, what's the matter, dear?" She drew the younger woman closer and patted her in motherly fashion.
"No-nothing. She's—she's so pretty and I'm getting—getting old. Martha, it's lonely. I can't stand it. I'm only thirty-four and all alone. I'm afraid to look ahead. Think of all the dreadful years. You can't blame me for—sometimes I think I'll—"