At first she resented what she called their interference. She declared, as she had declared before, that there was nothing the matter with her. She was only tired. Couldn't they see that she was tired? That they tired her?
"Why can't you leave me alone? If only you'd go away," she moaned, "—all of you—and leave me alone."
But very soon she was too tired even to be irritable. She lay quiet, sunk in the hollow of her bed, and kept her eyes shut, so that she never knew, she said, whether they were there or not. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered so long as she could just lie there.
It was only when they talked of sending for Rowcliffe that they roused her. Then she sat up and became, first vehement, then violent.
"You shan't send for him," she cried. "I won't see him. If he comes into the house I'll crawl out of it."
* * * * *
One day (it was the last Wednesday in April) Gwenda came to her and told her that Rowcliffe was there and had asked to see her.
Ally's pale eyes lightened and grew large. They were transparent as glass in her white face.
"Did you send for him?"
"No."