She couldn't tell him that she pretended he was there when he was not there; that she created situations.
He was ill, and she nursed him. She could feel the weight of his head against her arm, and his forehead—hot—hot under her hand. She had felt her hands to see whether they would be nice enough to put on Mr. Jourdain's forehead. They were rather nice; cool and smooth; the palms brushed together with a soft, swishing sound like fine silk.
He was poor and she worked for him.
He was in danger and she saved him. From a runaway horse; from a furious dog; from a burning house; from a lunatic with a revolver.
It made her sad to think how unlikely it was that any of these things would ever happen.
III.
"Mr. Jourdain, I am going to school."
The corn was reaped and carried. The five elms stood high above the shallow stubble.
"My poor Mary, is it possible?"
"Yes. Mamma says she's been thinking of it for a long time."