"If you had a kiddy. What was this little Maurie like? He sounded sweet in your letters. Why don't you see as much of him as you can? I'm sure he's fond of you. Isn't he?" "Yes--in his way--in his dear little way. But you don't want fondness from children." "What do you want, then?" "Love. If you want anything at all. There were some of the little boys down at Cailsham who were loathsome: horrid little wretches, who'd put out their tongues at you." "Sons of gentlemen," said Janet. "One of them spat at me once when I was giving him a music lesson. You couldn't want anything from them. But I could almost have believed that Maurie was mine." "Then why don't you go and see him? Take care of him for Mrs. Priestly till the case is over. He's bound to be in the way. When will it be over?" "The case?" "Yes." "I don't know." "Is she likely to win?" "I'm afraid not, and I don't believe she minds as long as she's got Maurie." "What counsel has she?" "Oh, I don't know. I didn't read the paper." "Well, why don't you go and take care of him till it's over?" "I don't believe she'd like me to." "Why on earth not? Here, let me get at that stove. We're going to have some tea. But why on earth not?" "I know she was jealous. Maurie used to write her lots of letters about me. She was afraid he was getting to love me. I could see that this afternoon. I could see it so plainly that I told her. I admitted that I'd tried to get him to love me and failed." "You did try?" "Yes; I suppose it was about the meanest thing I've ever done." Janet laid down the kettle silently on the stove, then came and sat on the arm of Sally's chair. One hand she laid on her shoulder, with the other she raised her face. "I haven't appreciated you sufficiently, Sally," she said in a toneless voice. "You're not the sort that gets appreciation. But, my God! I think you're wonderful. Do I keep saying 'God' too much, d'you think?" CHAPTER V That night Sally sat in her old rooms once more and wrote a letter to Traill. The return to them had for one moment surged back in a rushing flood of memories; but it did not overwhelm her. She threw herself into no quagmire of despair. Her eyes were tearless. All her actions were such as those of a person dazed with sleep. One hope she had in her heart which animated her, just as the hope of ultimate rest will give sluggish life to the person whose eyes are heavy with fatigue. Towards the realization of that hope, she seated herself at her desk and wrote to Traill. "DEAR JACK, "Will you come and see me to-morrow afternoon at about half-past four? I will give you some tea. I want to speak to you. Please do not think that I am going to begin to pester you with unwelcome attentions. My silence over these two or three months should convince you that I would not worry you like that for anything. "Hoping that I shall see you, "Yours sincerely, "SALLY BISHOP."