“No, it’s stiflingly warm, as a matter of fact. I was thinking, and that’s about the only thing that an old woman can do.”
“You are worried.” Alice spoke almost sharply. “And I hate you to be worried. I’ve noticed during these last few days——”
“Yes, I suppose I am a little,” Lady Gale sighed. “But then you’ve been worried too, dear, for the matter of that. It hasn’t been altogether a success, this place, this time. I don’t know what’s been wrong exactly, because the weather’s been beautiful.”
Alice put her hand on Lady Gale’s. “You won’t think me an utter pig, will you, dear, if I go up to Scotland at the end of the week? I think I had better, really. I’m not well down here, and it only makes it uncomfortable for the rest of you if I’m cross and absurd.”
Lady Gale sighed. “If you really want to go, dear,” she said, “of course you must. Do just what you like. Only, I shall miss you badly. You’re a great help to me, you know. Of course there’s Milly, but she’s been funny lately. She always gets excited down here.” Lady Gale put her arm round the girl. “Stay for a little, dear. I want you. We all want you.”
Alice drew herself up for a moment as though she would repel the caress; then she tried to say something, but the words would not come. With a little cry she buried her face in the other’s dress. For a few moments there was silence, then her shoulders heaved and she burst into passionate sobbing. Lady Gale said nothing—only, with her hand, she stroked her hair. The night was very still, so still that they could hear coming up from the town the distant chorus of some song.
At last Alice raised her head. “Please,” she said, “don’t worry about me.” But she clutched Lady Gale’s hand. “Oh! I’m ashamed of myself. I’m a fool to give way like this.” She suddenly drew her hand fiercely away. But Lady Gale took it in hers.
“Why,” she said, “I have been wanting you to speak to me all this time, and you wouldn’t; of course I knew what the matter was, you can’t keep that from his mother. We all seem to have been at cross-purposes, as it is in a play, when one word would put everything right, but everybody is afraid to say it. Why, I want to talk to you about it all. Do you suppose that I am not having a bad time too?”
Alice leaned towards her and kissed her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve been so selfish lately. I haven’t thought about anyone else. I hadn’t realised what you must feel about it. I ought to have known.”
She stopped for a moment, then she went on speaking in little gasps as though she had been running. “But I hadn’t meant to speak at all anything about it. I hate myself for having given way. I, who had always prided myself on my restraint and self-possession, to cry like a child for the moon.” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed bitterly. “I won’t give way again,” she said.