"By asking you to come and share my flat and work during the day in the office of the Twentieth Century Reform League."
Into Muriel's face the quick light leapt and died.
"No, no, of course not. I'm much too stupid. But I hope you'll find someone nice."
"You—you can't want to come—if I did ask you?"
"You mustn't ask me. I'd get on your nerves."
"But you can't want to come?" repeated Delia incredulously.
"More than anything I can think of at the moment," said Muriel.
"But you can't think what it's like. It's quite impossible."
Muriel stood looking at her. Then suddenly she sat down at the table facing Delia.
"I want to get away from Marshington," she said. "I've wanted to for months—for years I think. I didn't know how—I'm no good at acting for myself. I thought that there was nowhere else for me to go. I thought that the only means of escape for me was marriage. But if you want me, if you'll help me," her urgent, hurrying voice was not unlike her mother's now, but there was in it a note of appeal that puzzled Delia, "If you'll only help me to get away. You said that I never made a choice. I didn't only because it seemed to be no use. It's no good choosing a thing that you can't do. But if you'll give me work, show me some way of being useful——"