“Heaven forgive you,” Aunt Aggie answered, “for taking His name. You’ve got terrible things to answer to Him for, Timothy, when the time comes.”
“I’m not afraid, Aggie,” he said.
But it was Millie who spoke the final word.
“Oh, what are you all talking about!” she broke in. “What does it matter who’s good or bad or right or wrong. It’s Katie’s happiness that matters, nothing else. Of course, she’s gone. She ought to have gone months ago. You all wanted to make her and Phil live your life just as you wished it, and Phil, because he loved Katie so much, was ready to, but why should they? You say you all loved her, but I think it was just selfishness. I’ve been as bad as the rest of you. I’ve been thinking of myself more than Katie, but at heart now I’m glad, and I hope they’ll be happy, happy for ever.”
“And your Mother?” said Aunt Aggie. “Did Katherine owe her nothing?”
“Yes,” answered Millie, stoutly, “but she didn’t owe her all her life. Mother’s still got her if she wants her. Katie will never change—she isn’t that kind. It’s mother’s pride that’s hurt, not her love.”
Aunt Betty, who had been quite silent, said:
“I do indeed hope that she will be very happy ... but life will never be the same again. We mustn’t be selfish, of course, but we shall miss her—terribly.”
At a later hour George Trenchard, in pyjamas and a dressing gown, knocked on his wife’s door. She opened it, and he found her fully clothed; she had, it seemed to him, been reading.
He looked at her; he felt very wretched and uncomfortable.