"They raise themselves, rather. Of course they have to be worked."
"Worked? Do you hitch them to things?"
And when they departed they were still avidly curious, unsatisfied.
"It's my belief she's left him."
"Well, she'll never tell you!"
She seldom left the house. They came to her, these girls, and when they did not come she did not miss them. Their small affairs seemed trivial and frivolous to her, against the great adventure of living and dying as she began to see it. Sometimes when they came jn to luncheon and sat around the table in their bright frocks, she saw instead of them Mrs. Mallory's party. The tired capable faces, the worn capable hands. And she felt nearer to those older women than she did to these young ones.
Her tumultuous inner life she buried always. For a time she had expected to hear from Tom; even on the train East the entrance of a boy with a telegram had set her heart beating fast. But as the days went on and no letter came she abandoned the hope. He had meant what he said; he would never ask her to go back.
At the end of three weeks she wrote him a letter. She wrote in a discouraged hour, and the letter was not particularly calculated to heal the breach between them:
"I have found my mother very ill. She may live a few months, but that is all. I am glad now that I came. It has made her happier, and of course I shall stay until the end.
"What else can I say? I know now that although I did my best, it was not enough. I could not even hold you for six months. There is no reproach in this. Maybe all men are unfaithful to their wives, or at least disloyal at times. I don't know; I find there is so much I don't know. Of course you know that if you send for me I shall come back, not now but when I can. But you must realize that you must want me and ask me first. I came to you once; I cannot do it again.
"I am not happy here; even without mother's illness I
