Poor Molly! Yes, it would be the same, for to that devoted heart life without her husband would be death far worse than death.
Florine rose up and went noisily into the next room.
Molly started, broad awake, and sat up looking in alarm at the maid.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Laurens. I’m afraid I disturbed you talking to myself in such a loud voice. I was so angry I couldn’t help it, madame,” said Florine.
“What has made you angry, Florine?” asked the sad, gentle voice.
“Oh, madame, I oughtn’t to tell you on no account; but it’s a shame their goings-on, and you sick and not able to help yourself.”
“Florine, I don’t understand you,” wistfully.
“Maybe it’s best you don’t, madame, for if you did you wouldn’t stay with such a shameless man, planning a second marriage while you’re alive, and likely to be for many years, not but that her will’s good to poison you if she had a fair chance.”
Molly sat upright with frightened eyes.
“Yes, Florine, I know Miss Barry hates me,” she shuddered. “But—but—you are my friend, aren’t you? Don’t, oh, don’t let her kill me, please!”