Laura’s exclamation could have meant anything—but Annabel reddened, stammering a little— “Well, but—can’t you understand? It’s true. I’d have no right——I want my right. And—and I’ve never felt like that about any of my boys. I never did about Robin himself—till the war. But now——Oh, Laura, what am I to do?” “Do? What can any one do?” Laura’s voice was as expressionless as her face. “No—that’s just it. And yet——I tell you, Laura, sometimes I’m ready to take Robin at his word and marry him in spite of his mother.” “He wants that?” Laura paused a moment in her work and considered the pretty, blubbered face thoughtfully. “Well—what do you think?” Annabel’s smile suited her better than tears. “I—see. Well, why don’t you, then?” Laura turned her sock with a flick. Annabel stared at her. “What—d’you mean—run away? Really? Seriously?” “Why not?” Annabel giggled nervously. “Well—I haven’t any money to begin with. I’ve spent my next quarter already.” “I’d lend you some. And Robin would meet you in town.” “But—but—how could I? Mother would never get over it. Mother’s terrified of Mrs. Gedge. I couldn’t——” “Oh, well then——” Laura dropped the subject indifferently. They sat awhile in silence. Annabel fidgeted. Her restless eyes wandered round the room. “I ought to be going. The rain’s stopped,” she volunteered at last. “Oh—must you?” Laura rose courteously. “Laura—” Annabel stooped to pick up the disgruntled tabby stretching itself indignantly on the hearth-rug—“Laura—if I did—Laura—do you honestly think it would be right?” “Right?” The flames had found Laura’s face at last, lighting up, laying bare its weakness and its strength, soft eyes and tender mouth and the new hard lines about eyes and mouth alike. “Right? You’re a woman, aren’t you? You’ve a man fighting for you? You give what you can and take what you can—while you’ve the chance! Right?” Her voice deepened. “It’s your own two lives! Don’t you let them rob you—even if they are your own people. They talk about prudence and marry in haste—and tell you to wait—and wait—and wait! It would be devilish the way they talk, if they understood. But of course—they can’t. They’re old. They’ve forgotten. They mean well. But you—you take your chance!” “But—but—” began Annabel helplessly. “And there’s another thing. You talk about rights. It’s not only your right. The children—our children—they have their right to be born. Well—and if he is killed and you are poor—you’ll be able to feed a child, and clothe it, and teach it to read, I suppose—if you can’t send it to Eton. You give it life anyway, and love, and care. That ought to be good enough. ‘What porridge had John Keats’?” “But—you talk,” Annabel whimpered. “I only want Robin.” Laura, pulled up short, stared at her a moment. Then she laughed.