"I don't know," said Agatha wearily. "I suppose I shall have to go away—to Winnipeg, most probably. I could teach, I think."
"How are you and Gregory to get used to each other if you go away?"
Agatha made a little helpless gesture. "I hadn't looked at it in that light."
"Are you very anxious to get used to him?"
Agatha shrank from the question; but there was a constraining kindliness in her companion's eyes.
"I daren't quite think about it yet. I mean to try. I must try. I seem to be playing an utterly contemptible, selfish part, but I could not marry him—now!"
Her hostess quietly crossed the room, and sat down by her side.
"My dear," she said, "as I told you, I think you are doing right, and in some respects I believe I know how you feel. Everybody prophesied disaster when I came out to join Allen from a sheltered home in Montreal, and at the beginning my life here was not easy to me. It was all so different, and there were times when I was afraid, and my heart was horribly heavy. If it hadn't been for Allen I think I should have given in and broken down. He understood, however. He never failed me."
Agatha's eyes grew misty, and she turned her head away.
"Yes," she said, "that would make it wonderfully easier."