She looked up in surprise, for a sound of low sobbing filled the room. It could not be she who was crying. Why, she'd just made up her mind that in her work in the village lay the royal road to the only thing in life that really mattered. There was a real battle to be fought against Hunting, that would cure her of hysterical fancies.
But the choking sobs continued, for she did not care. She did not want to regain her self-respect if that meant shutting herself off from all thoughts of him. What did the village matter? What did she matter if it came to that?
"Oh, David, David," she moaned. "And I loved you so."
Footsteps sounded along the passage. Violet called to her from the hall.
"Are you there, m'm?"
She rose and pushed back the fallen hair from her face.
"Yes. What is it?"
"Please, m'm, is Mr. Robson to have toast for his tea, and may I have the key of the dairy, because that there cat's been at the butter again?"
"Yes, you'd better make some toast. I'll get the butter."
As she went up the passage on her way to the kitchen, Mary kicked the cat.