"More than most things, it brings home to me my—my helplessness."
The poison, begotten of hatred, made Mavis thankful that the Devitt family had not had it all their own way in life.
When she next looked at Harold, he was intently regarding her. Mavis's glance dropped.
"But now there's something more than reading the 'Song' that makes me curse my luck," he remarked.
"And that?"
"Can't you guess?" he asked earnestly.
Mavis did not try; she was already aware of the fascination she possessed for the invalid.
For the rest of the time they were together, Mavis could get nothing out of Harold; he was depressed and absent-minded when spoken to. Mavis, of set purpose, did her utmost to take Harold out of himself.
"Thank you," he said, as she was going.
"What for?"