“Don’t let me cry! Stop me! Oh, Babs, don’t let me do it. If I once begin I can never stop!”
“But wouldn’t it be a relief to you, darling? Everyone has been terrified lest you were putting too great a strain on yourself. If you gave way once to me—it doesn’t matter for me—it might do you good. Cry, darling, if you want, and I’ll cry with you!”
But she protested more vigorously than ever. “No, no, I daren’t! I can’t face it! Be cross with me—be neglectful—leave me to myself, but for pity’s sake don’t be so patient, Babs! It makes me silly, and I must keep up, whatever happens. Say something now to make me stop—quickly!”
“I expect the men will be here any moment. You’ll look hideous with red eyes,” I said gruffly. It was the only thing I could think of, and perhaps it did as well as anything else, for she calmed down by degrees, and there was no more sign of a breakdown that night.
After that day we seemed to understand each other better, and when I saw danger signals I was snappy on purpose, and felt like a martyr when Will and Mr Carstairs glared at me, and thought what a wretch I was. We wanted Vere to be resigned and natural about her illness, but we dreaded and feared a hysterical breakdown, which must leave her weaker than ever, and she had said herself that if she once began to cry she could never leave off.
Chapter Thirteen.
September 5th.
Four days later we left the Grange and came to our new home, a furnished house four miles away. It is a big, square, prosaic-looking building, but comfortable, with a nice big garden, so we are fortunate to have found such a place in the neighbourhood. We told each other gushingly how fortunate we had been, every time that we discovered anything that we hated more than usual, and were obtrusively gay all that first horrid evening.