"She's as pleased as Punch," said Gwenda. "It's a boy. Ally—did you know that Essy's had a baby?"
"I don't care if she has," said Ally violently. "It's got nothing to do with me. I wish you wouldn't talk about her beastly baby."
As the Vicar came out of his study into the dining-room, he fixed his eyes upon his youngest daughter.
"What's the matter with you?" he said.
"Nothing's the matter," said Alice defiantly. "Why?"
"You look," he said, "as if somebody was murdering you."
XXXV
Ally was ill; so ill this time that even the Vicar softened to her. He led her upstairs himself and made her go to bed and stay there. He would have sent for Rowcliffe but that Ally refused to see him.
Her mortal apathy passed for submission. She took her milk from her father's hand without a murmur. "There's a good girl," he said, as she drank it down.
But it didn't do her any good. Nothing did. The illness itself was no good to her, considering that she didn't want to be ill this time. She wanted to die. And of course she couldn't die. It would have been too much happiness and they wouldn't let her have it.