Dr. Lavendar went as quickly as he could to the door; when he opened it he stood between the little boy and Helena. "Tell Mary not to wait for me; but ask her to give you your supper."
"An' Mary says that in Ireland they call clover 'shamrocks'; an'—"
Dr. Lavendar gently closed the door. When he went back to his seat on the other side of the table, she said faintly, "That was—?"
"Yes," said Dr. Lavendar.
"Oh," she whispered. "I knew I would have to give him up. I knew I had no right to him."
"No; you had no right to him."
"But I loved him so! Oh, I thought, maybe, I would be—like other people, if I had him."
After a while, with long pauses between the sentences, she began to tell him. …
"I never thought about goodness; or badness either. Only about Lloyd, and happiness. I thought I had a right to happiness. But I was angry at all the complacent married people; they were so satisfied with themselves! And yet all the time I wished Frederick would die so that I could be married. Oh, the time was so long!" She threw her arms up with a gesture of shuddering weariness; then clasped her hands between her knees, and staring at the floor, began to speak. Her words poured out, incoherent, contradictory, full of bewilderment and pain. "Yes; I wasn't very happy, except just at first. After a while I got so tired of Lloyd's selfishness. Oh—he was so selfish! I used to look at him sometimes, and almost hate him. He always took the most comfortable chair, and he cared so much about things to eat. And he got fat. And he didn't mind Frederick's living. I could see that. And I prayed that Frederick would die.—I suppose you think it was wicked to pray that?"
"Go on."