"It's all right. I only dreamed he was dead. I shall tell Mamma."
When she really woke, two entities, two different and discordant memories, came together with a shock.
Her mother was up and dressed. She leaned over her, tucking the blankets round her shoulders and saying, "Lie still and go to sleep again, there's a good girl."
Her memory cleared and settled, filtering, as the light filtered through the drawn blinds. Mamma and she had slept together because Papa was dead.
IX.
"Mary, do you know why you're crying?"
Roddy's face was fixed in a look of anger and resentment, and of anxiety as if he were afraid that at any minute he would be asked to do something that he couldn't do.
They had come down together from the locked room, and gone into the drawing-room where the yellow blinds let in the same repulsive, greyish, ochreish light.
Her tears did not fall. They covered her eyes each with a shaking lens; the chairs and tables floated up to her as if she stood in an aquarium of thick, greyish, ochreish light.
"You think it's because you care," he said. "But it's because you don't care…. You're not as bad as I am. I don't care a bit."