"I do believe, Gertrude, you hate the very sight of a man!" Gertrude smiled again; then suddenly shivered, as though the cold wind outside had swept through the room.
"And so would you—if you knew what I do!"
"Well I do know a good bit!" protested Mrs. Marvell. "And I'm a married woman,—worse luck! and you're not. But you'll never see it any other way than your own, Gertie. You got a kink in you when you were quite a girl. Last week I was talking about you to a woman I know—and I said—'It's the girls ruined by the bad men that make Gertrude so mad'—and she said—'She don't ever think of the boys that are ruined by the bad women!—Has she ever had a son—not she!' And she just cried and cried. I suppose she was thinking of something."
Gertrude rose.
"Look here, mother. Can I go to bed? I'm awfully tired."
"Wait a bit. I'll make the bed."
Gertrude sat down by the fire again. Her exhaustion was evident, and she made no attempt to help her mother. Mrs. Marvell let down the chair-bed, drew it near the fire, and found some bed-clothes. Then she produced night-things of her own, and helped Gertrude undress. When her daughter was in bed, she made some tea, and dry toast, and Gertrude let them be forced on her. When she had finished, the mother suddenly stooped and kissed her.
"Where are you going to now, Gertrude? Are you staying on with that lady in Hamptonshire?"
"Can't tell you my plans just yet," said Gertrude sleepily—"but you'll know next week."
The lights were put out. Both women tried to sleep, and Gertrude was soon heavily asleep.