“Don’t go!” cried Doris—“suppose Father died....”
“I can’t see what good I should be doing here. Vera needs me more than you do.”
“She’s got her mother. And it would be dreadful if Father died while you were out of the house.”
“Not more dreadful than if I was in it. He doesn’t know me, and wouldn’t see me if he did.”
“I think you’re very heartless,” and Doris began to cry—“Father might recover consciousness just before the end and want to forgive you.”
“I don’t think either is the least likely. Come along, Ben.”
Her husband fetched her coat from the hall, and they set out together. Doris sat on in her chair at the head of the table, sobbing weakly.
“I think this is a terrible thing to have happened. Father and Peter going together.... It makes me almost believe there isn’t a God.”
“But we’ve no reason to think Peter’s dead,” said Mary—“a dozen other things may have happened. He may have broken his leg out in the fields and be unable to get home, in which case the men will soon find him. I don’t see why you need take for granted that he’s killed.”
“I think it far more likely that he’s gone off with Stella Mount,” said Rose, relieved of Jenny’s repressing presence.