Harriett was silent. She didn’t understand. Her mother was looking at her with a serene comprehension and compassion.
“Poor Hatty,” he said, “she can’t tell a lie to save my life.”
“Oh—Papa——”
He smiled as if he was thinking of something that amused him.
“You should consider other people, my dear. Not just your own selfish feelings.... You ought to write and tell Mr. Hichens.”
Her mother gave a short sobbing laugh. “Oh, you darling,” she said.
He lay still. Then suddenly he began pressing hard on the mattress with both hands, bracing himself up in the bed. Her mother leaned closer towards him. He threw himself over slantways, and with his head bent as if it was broken, dropped into her arms.
Harriett wondered why he was making that queer grating and coughing noise. Three times.
Her mother called softly to her—“Harriett.”
She began to tremble.