"That doesn't make any difference either. I've got to clear out. It's her one chance, Molly. I've got to give it her. How can I let her die, poor darling, or go mad? She'll be all right if he marries her."
"And if he doesn't?"
"He may, Molly, he may, if I clear out in time. Anyhow, there isn't anybody else."
"If only," Mary said, "Papa had kept a curate."
"But he hasn't kept a curate. He never will keep a curate. And if he does he'll choose a man with a wife and seven children—no, he'll choose no children. The wife mustn't have a chance of dying."
"Gwenda—do you think anybody knows? They did, you know—before, and it was awful."
"Nobody knows this time, except Papa and Steven Rowcliffe and you and me."
"I wish I didn't. I wish you hadn't told me."
"You had to know or I wouldn't have told you. Do you think Steven
Rowcliffe would have told me——"
"How could he? It was awful of him."