Marjorie colored now, and, rising from her seat in front of the fire, wrapped the shawl again around her.
"Mother, dear, I'm not a child now; I am a woman grown."
"Too old to be advised," sighed her mother.
"I don't know what I need to be advised about."
"People never do. It is more than three years ago that he told me that he had never thought of any one but you."
"Why should he tell you that?" Marjorie's tone could be sharp as well as her mother's.
"I was talking about you. I said you were not well—I was afraid you were troubled—and he told me—that."
"Troubled about what?" Marjorie demanded.
"About his not answering your letter," in a wavering voice.
The words had to come; Mrs. West knew that Marjorie would have her answer.