“Do you think you can, Fliss?” Dick sounded doubtful and Fliss, leaning against the door, did not look too competent. Her skirt was too short and her hair too elaborate.
“I’ve got to,” she answered. “I don’t know much, but I’ve heard things—enough to know what to avoid.”
They had reached Carrington by telephone and knew that Cecily’s mother, Cecily’s nurse and Cecily’s doctor were now on their way to Allenby, but it would be three or four hours before they could arrive even with the greatest of speed. The local doctor had assured them that it would be over before that. The two men could hear strange sounds that did not seem natural—cries that hurt almost unbearably to hear. The footsteps overhead were hurried.
“Do you think—already?” asked Dick.
Then they both heard it.
Fliss came in again. Her hair was disordered and her face as pale as before. She faced them with startled, angry eyes.
“So that’s what women have to go through,” she said, “and you never get a taste of it! My Lord, but it’s fierce!”
Dick had pushed past her, upstairs. It seemed as if Matthew were about to follow, and restrained himself.
“Is something wrong?” he asked hoarsely. “Is she——”
Fliss actually laughed. All the primitive sex antagonism in her had seemed to leap out suddenly. She was angrily on guard, fiercely angry at all men, so free of this agony—quite at her best as she stood there in her wrath.