Then she saw Veronica's name on the sealed envelope. She was glad when Veronica left them and went to her hospital.
And when she was gone she wanted her back again.
"I wish I hadn't spoken that way to Veronica," she said.
"She won't mind. She knows you couldn't help it."
"I could, Dorothy, if I wasn't jealous of her. I mean I'm jealous of her certainty. If I had it, too, I shouldn't be jealous."
"She wants you to have it. She's trying to give it you.
"Mother--how do we know she isn't right? Nicky said she was. And Michael said Nicky was right.
"If it had been only Nicky--he might have got it from Veronica. But Michael never got things from anybody. And you do know things in queer ways. Even I do. At least I did once--when I was in prison. I knew something tremendous was going to happen. I saw it, or felt it, or something. I won't swear I knew it was the War. I don't suppose I did. But I knew Frank was all mixed up with it. And it was the most awfully real thing. You couldn't go back on it, or get behind it. It was as if I'd seen that he and Lawrence and Nicky and Michael and all of them would die in it to save the whole world. Like Christ, only that they really did die and the whole world was saved. There was nothing futile about it."
"Well--?"
"Well, they might see their real thing the same way--in a flash. Aren't they a thousand times more likely to know than we are? What right have we--sitting here safe--to say it isn't when they say it is?"