"Prettier."
"And she's not a bit like you."
"Not a bit, not a little bit."
"I'm glad," said Maggie.
"Why on earth are you glad?"
"Because—I couldn't bear her child to be like you."
"You mustn't say those things, Maggie, I don't like it."
"I won't say them. You don't mind my thinking them, do you? I can't help thinking."
She thought for a long time; then she got up, and came to him, and put her arm round his neck, and bowed her head and whispered.
"Don't whisper. I hate it. Speak out. Say what you've got to say."