Elizabeth looked at her a little startled. Yes, it had got on her nerves, it was horribly on her nerves and had been for weeks. She longed to talk frankly and explain to this kind, commonplace woman the complicated situation as she saw it, to ask her advice. She began: "Joan's got something on her mind——" Then stopped.
"But of course she has," said Mrs. Benson.
"And she's growing—mentally, I mean. Oh, and physically too——"
"They all do that, Elizabeth."
"Yes, but—I don't understand it; at least, yes, I do understand it, only I can't see my way."
"Your way?"
"Yes, my way with Joan."
"Can't you try to rouse her? She seems to me to be getting very morbid."
"No, she's not—at least not in the way you mean. Don't think I'm mad, but Joan gives me such a queer feeling. I feel as though she'd been fighting, fighting, fighting to get out, to be herself, and that now she's not fighting any more, she's too tired."
"But, my dear child, what is it all about?"